The Adventures of Thomas
by Iscreamer1
Summary: Based on Shane Acker's WWII movie, Thomas befriends a lonely pre-teen boy named Christopher who wishes to reconnect with his father. Made for the 70th anniversary of the second book in the Railway Series.
1. Thomas and the War

Thomas was a tank engine who lived at a big station on the Island of Sodor for over twenty-four years. He was a cheeky little engine with six small wheels, a short stumpy funnel, a short stumpy boiler and a short stumpy dome. He was also painted blue with red stripes and had the number "1" on his side tanks. Friendly and outgoing as well, he also had many friends and they all tried to be really useful on a railway of harmony.

When Thomas was built at Brighton Works, however, it was during a time when England and Germany did not see eye to eye. A string of political events, sparked by the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria became the _casus belli_ of the First World War. A year after the assassination, the North Western Railway was at its peak of completion and its owner, Sir Topham Hatt, needed an engine to run it, secondarily to put the line in action for the war effort. He chose Thomas and a Furness Railway K2 named Edward to work the line while Thomas became a station pilot at Vicarstown and worked there even after the war, where he received his own branch line following the rescue of a new engine named James in the aftermath of his serious accident.

Now he had a branch line and two coaches called Annie and Clarabel as a reward, bringing passengers to and fro from his friends on the main line, including Gordon the biggest and proudest engine of them all. Another big engine named Henry, often stopped by to tell him the latest news at Knapford Junction where he began his journeys and this time it was an unfortunate announcement directly from Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain.

The date was Sunday, September 3rd, 1939 at 11:15 a.m., with the Prime Minister announcing that the United Kingdom and France were now fighting another war: a Second World War. And for the second time, Germany was their opponent.

The engines had been listening to the announcement in their shed and grew worried if the enemy invaded their shores: one war to them was enough and a second could only mean the worse for England and her islands. Germany was now controlled by a ruthless Third Reich, whose intentions were to purge humanity of its flaws in order to create a perfect society. Half of their scientists worked unceasingly to build machines of advanced technology, like a fuel powered rocket that could fly into space, drop an atom bomb on New York City from a certain altitude and continue all the way back to the base where it took off from.

Later that afternoon once matters had been settled, Thomas met Gordon at Knapford Junction with his last train. The two often had their share of teasing and bickering, but didn't mean any harm. Today, however, made an exception.

"What do you make of all of this Gordon?" he asked.

"I can only expect tons of evacuees that will give the Fat Director a run for his money," said Gordon. "He thinks Sodor will be a perfect safe haven for England's children."

His eyes pointed to a man sitting on a bench wearing an ecru suit. He looked very formal, almost bathed in wealth, but not too wealthy as one would expect him to be. Gordon seemed to know who he was.

"The general of our Sodor Regiment could do wonders with the young men who choose to fight for our island," he said. "All they need is a good amount of training and off they go to the front lines."

"And when they come back," said Thomas. "We take them to a party like a jamboree or victory celebration, although I could be right about the last one. Now I was hoping if I could go to the mainland and pick up some evacuees from maybe, London perhaps? The least we can do after we bring them here is to ensure that we make them feel welcome and comfortable for as long as possible."

Gordon was doubtful.

"You couldn't possibly go all the way to London under your own steam! Who would look after your branch line?"

"Bertie can take my passengers while Percy can do the goods work."

"And who would fetch our coaches if Percy decides to work the line? Tender engines like me do not shunt on dirty sidings."

Thomas just glared at the big engine's forgetfulness.

"But remember what happened last time? The Fat Director had you, Henry and James shut up in the shed for several days and wasn't it he who told you that the whole 'no shunting' business had to stop?"

Gordon now remembered, ashamed by the time he had to pull a passenger train backwards after a strong wind prevented him from going on the right place in the turntable.

"If you don't like it," Thomas said, disappointingly. "I'll only go as far as Barrow. It is not like I am going away forever you know."

"That would be my business," said Gordon. "A strong, fast engine like myself should take the city kids all the way over here."

Thomas moaned with a sigh.

"Not this discussion again."

"I only want what is best for you, little Thomas. I did mean it when I said you couldn't make it all the way to London under your own steam."

"Can I still pick them up from Barrow?"

"Only if the Fat Director lets you."

"I think he will, because I'm number one and I know what is best."

"Says the tank engine who dislikes boasting."

Thomas remembered himself.

"Anyway, if the Fat Director wanted me to go all the way to the big city against the limits of my coal and water supply, he'd have to send another engine to do the yard work."

At the moment, there came a voice belonging to a shining silver engine that was passing by. The engine was nothing Thomas and Gordon had seen before, he had a set of four wheels on each end with a metallic body, a long glass window on either side and, oddly enough, a _propeller_ in the back.

"Coming through, I have an appointment with the _vorsteher_ of this line."

"Who in the world is that?" asked Gordon as the new engine buzzed away.

"That," said Thomas. "arrived yesterday and is an experimental type. He's not like us, he's a different, modern kind of engine that runs on oil or fuel that the people on the mainland call 'diesels'. His name is Hugo. The Fat Director sent him all the way from Germany to help us, claiming that he defected from the Nazis, but I think _they_ might have sent him to spy on us."

"I can see that for myself, Thomas," said Gordon. "But I do not believe that he is in any way a spy. What reason could he have for coming here other than for the Fat Director to test the line with a diesel engine?"

"Espionage! Treachery! What's next?!"

Gordon puffed out of the station and Thomas didn't stop worrying until he was back in his shed at Ffarquhar Station. For a long time, the Island of Sodor seemed quiet and secluded from the rest of the world, and as it was thought to be by many of its inhabitants, it would take a miracle for this wonderful place to be put on the map.


	2. Christopher

_One year later_

London, England was the home of a boy named Christopher Awdry. He was ten years old with dark brown hair, greenish eyes and came and went by the Underground to school every Monday to Friday. He lived in a sensible red-brick house with his mother Margaret, his little sisters Hilary and Veronica, his grandparents Vere and Lucy, his Uncle George and his father Wilbert, whom he adored out of all his relatives.

It was no wonder why he and his father were close: they loved trains. On mornings and afternoons, they would visit any train station they preferred from King's Cross to Paddington, playing a game called trainspotting, where the participants had to spot a certain type of engine, coach and truck, collecting and exchanging information from others who also did the same. The sounds of the engine whistles were music to their ears and the family would spend their holidays on the four railways that connected the United Kingdom from top to bottom: Southern, Great Western, London Midland and Scottish and the London and North Eastern Railway. There was something about trains that made him feel alive, spending most of his time watching express trains thundering by and trucks being shunted in the yard by tank engines.

Everything was perfect…until September 1st, 1939. Then things began to change.

A whole year had passed since the German Nazis invaded Poland and now, their black swastika labeled machines of destruction were now heading towards Britain in an effort to conquer it as they had succeeded with the Channel Islands just three months before. The threat of invasion haunted their lives and Wilbert knew better than to escape the draft board. Despite losing his half-brother Carol Edward in the last war, he and George felt they had no other choice than to sign up for the battle—much to the dismay of his son.

"Why can't we stay together?" he asked once he heard he was leaving.

"We can't be together all the time," his father had reasoned. "That is just the way life works."

He did come back at Christmas, but even that wasn't enough for the boy to satisfy his needs. Without his father, the main supporting pillar to guide him throughout his life, Christopher began to turn dark, evolving into a boy that seemed to be ahead of his time, but still mopey and a bit immature at times. He started by sleeping without a nightshirt and would climb over short brick walls and sit on them whenever he liked to watch the trains go by, all the while remaining careful so as not to fall over to the other side. He wore no colors other than black, white and brown because of how it reflected his current lifestyle, tried to put some effort into whatever he liked to draw and would not do his homework after the lights were out, preferring to do it in school.

Emotionally, he did not seem to care about any of the boys and girls who missed their fathers who signed up for the war and those who stayed behind only made him jealous. When alone, Christopher would cry and cry, wallowing in his sorrow as his inner self conflicted as to whether or not sleep alone in his own bed or in the bed his parents shared. He tried sleeping in his father's place, and with his grandparents and sisters, but it did not feel the same. All in all, Christopher was just another sad and lonely boy longing to reconnect with his drifted father in this war of nations.

Publicly, Christopher, while fearing that his father and uncle would be killed, tried to remain kind and generous to others who lost their families. At the same time, he couldn't bear seeing himself in that position, destitute from having their money lost in the bombing, ragged and starving as so many others were suffering in different parts of the world outside his city.

Today at the primary school he had gone to, he presented a drawing of an LNER J50 in green to his teacher, a woman of French descent, during lunch hour.

"Is that a tank engine?" she asked.

"Yes," replied Christopher, trying to sound happy.

"It's hard to believe you took so much effort to draw," the teacher said. "Even at your age."

"It's more than that," explained Christopher. "I love railways."

When he had lunch outside, there was gossip among his classmates staring at him.

"He's no fun. He's obsessed with trains. All he does is just sit there, watching."

At the third boy who spoke, Christopher spoke out.

"That is not entirely true. I have other hobbies."

"Like what?" the other boy next to him asked. "Waiting for Dad to come home from training? Just asking."

Christopher tried not to believe that they were teasing him.

"Don't you miss your fathers as well?"

"We all do," said the boy on his left. "But what good is it? You just have to let it go for a while and before you know, they'll be comin' back."

Christopher wanted to accept this as fact, and while he had the rest of his family, he did not want to lose them or leave them as well. In spite of the invading threats, he was confident that they would live through it come hell or high water.

The next day was Saturday, September the 7th. The day was sunny with warm temperatures and a haze that glowed through the sun into the southern winds. The clouds lay scattered across the blanket of blue skies, rolling peacefully into the afternoon over the parks and bridges where they could be seen more clearly. Solitary and silent, Christopher had been wide awake in his bed since one past midnight and he hardly felt tired at all after his mother tried to sooth him by rubbing his reposed back.

"Can't you sleep?" she asked on that night.

"Neither can I," he replied, thinking that she too, was having the same problem as he was.

"It's close to one thirty, Christopher," his mother said as she rubbed his back with her left hand. "You must be tired."

"I miss Dad," he whispered, not wishing to hear the same reply from her.

But this time, it was different. Her voice was soft when she replied.

"You'll see him again."

"When?" Christopher moaned.

"Soon."

She kissed him on the cheek and left.

True to her word, his father and uncle did come back from training at Regent's Park Barracks, intending to stay until they were called again with the general's permission. When Christopher saw his father in the doorway, Wilbert had opened his arms for his daughters, shouting "Daddy!" as they ran over to him. He was expecting Christopher to come into his arms after a yearlong absence, but the boy just stared at him, dubiously as he replied.

"I don't know whether to hug you or hit you."

Wilbert took this as a humorous remark, but he was now fully aware of his son's "mood swings".

By 4:00 the family was sitting down to an early dinner of roast beef and watercress tea sandwiches in near silence. After twenty minutes, it was Christopher who spoke first.

"Have you made your decision? Are you going to stay?"

"Not very long, I'm afraid," Wilbert replied sadly. "They're moving me and George to a new facility up north before we're shipped overseas."

Christopher's jaw fell by just a tiny bit and he asked.

"Overseas? To where?"

"Who knows? Maybe Dunkirk. They haven't even told us where we were going."

"You shouldn't have to go," Christopher protested. "Nothing is going to stop you from going with the army."

"Except going to prison for insubordination," added Uncle George. "It wouldn't do us any good if we abandon our post."

"Is there anyone else who can go instead?"

"Everyone who's eligible to fight," Margaret said.

"At least not me at this age."

It was Grandfather Vere's turn to talk.

"When I was in the last war, thirty years ago, I had to go too. Your father was just like you, wanting me to come back and all, except he wanted to be away from the war. At least he didn't cry that much as you've done for the last year, did you Wilbert?"

"Only a little," Wilbert gestured. "As a matter of fact, they have been evacuating children to the countryside due to this invasion thing…but I highly doubt it will ever happen."

"How?" asked Grandmother Lucy.

"By driving them back of course. The RAF can strike enemy aerodromes with aggression."

The time on the clock read 4:30 p.m. when he finished, followed by a loud whining noise.

"It's not the fire brigade is it?" asked Hilary, her fears closing in on her.

The noise had soon become a warning to others and it increased with the droning of aircraft propellers and explosions coming from the distance, which made Christopher's stomach sink and his face went pale. About a month ago, German bomber planes had struck the financial heart of Oxford Street, though small talk and rumors had circulated that the pilots had made a navigational error and Prime Minister Winston Churchill responded to the perceived attack by having his forces bomb the German capitol of Berlin, which would never compare to London as Christopher saw to it in terms of culture and language. Then he remembered the bomb shelter that had been constructed just before his father and uncle left and ran to the backyard, taking his sandwich with him.

"They can't be attacking now, can they?" Veronica quivered.

"Yes they can," her grandmother spoke as quickly as possible. "I remember when blimps used to bomb us, remember that, Vere?"

"Yes, I do," said her husband, trying to lift his spirits. "I've told you and the kids almost fifty times about that and we can tell it again in the shelter. Everybody out!"

Under the command of Dolfo Galland, a total of three hundred and forty-eight Heinkel 111s covered the sky of rising smoke coming from Surrey Docks and were now approaching the East End, where the explosions grew louder with each second. Now their house was straight ahead. Wilbert grabbed his dinner plate and led his family into the Anderson air raid shelter which was eight steps under the ground of the back yard. Margaret, Hilary and Veronica went in first while Christopher and Wilbert stayed for the remaining three. Uncle George leapt into the shelter, but Grandmother Lucy was slow in her age and when she had placed one foot in the shelter, she looked back and saw Grandfather Vere staggering to the yard against his body structure. She rushed back with all strength she had left in her.

"Grandma! No!" shouted Christopher.

But it was too late for any of them to help her. She took Vere into his arms and slowly helped him to the shelter, too slow to be exact. When they were halfway to the shelter, it happened: a bomb came whistling down, hitting the ground with a large explosion that blasted Vere, Lucy, the yard and the windows to smithereens. Ash and earth flew everywhere. Anything that was left of them was lying in a crater from the impact and Wilbert and Christopher headed into the shelter to avoid a similar fate.

Inside, they listened in silence to the exploding bombs and the sirens continuing until they fell asleep, not telling the girls and George about what happened to Lucy and Vere until the next morning.


	3. Evacuation

_7:30 a.m., Sunday, September 8_ _th_ _, 1940_

Poor Christopher was now a shadow of his former self when the crater from the blast provided a burial ground for his grandparents. He was starting to feel alone, a hindsight that his once large family was now growing smaller thanks to the war. The destruction reminded him of what his father and uncle had to face and he mentally refused to lose him overseas. Then fear began to settle in when he soon realized that, thanks to Operation Pied Piper, he wasn't going to stay in his own house any longer.

After a ten-minute funeral for Lucy and Vere (along with some of their neighbors who also perished in the bombing), Margaret made the arrangements. It was five pounds per child to take a train to the Lake District via Liverpool, a three-hour trip that was worth being as far away from the bombers as possible.

In his room, which looked cramped from a distance with a wallpaper of tiger lilies, he was packing his belongings into a suitcase and his messenger bag, including the required items such as a gas mask, a parcel and a name tag that was tied to his blazer. At the same time, he took an apple, a can of meat, a can of milk, a chocolate bar, a loaf of bread and some biscuits for the journey into a hamper. Already dressed in a white polo shirt, a black blazer, dark tan short trousers, grey knee socks and chocolate brown shoes, he looked frustrated and sullen as his mother helped him.

"Why did Dad have to go away?" he muttered crossly.

"Because of the war," Margaret told him for the third time in a year.

Now he was feeling rebellious about packing and was making a hash out of it.

"Why do I have to go away anyway?" he asked again. "It's not like they're gonna come back again after what they've done here."

Margaret was stern, but concerned.

"It's for your own safety. The bomb shelter will not be able to last much longer and I don't want you, Hilary or Veronica here if they decide to come back. You saw what happened to Grandma and Grandpa, didn't you?"

Christopher nodded sadly.

"I assure you it will only be a few months and then you'll be back here safe and snug," finished Margaret, sweetly.

Amidst the clutter of the objects on the dresser in his mother's bedroom, Christopher had taken a black and white photograph of a teenage couple dancing at a party while another boy of that age looked on in the background. He showed it to Margaret as soon as he stumbled upon it.

"I like this photo of you and Dad," he said changing his mood. "You both seem happy."

"Ah yes, our wedding dance back in '28 just before you were born. We first met in Jerusalem two years earlier at St. George's School during a summer holiday. I was wearing a nice apple green dress and he was wearing a blue suit that matched the sky of that day. Back then we were just kids, silly, madly in love and stupid to think we could get married right away, but we decided to wait, and then two years later he proposed to me."

Christopher pointed to the boy in the background.

"Who's the other boy?"

"That's Uncle George. He and your father often competed over me and he ended up being a third wheel on our dates. Just before we got married he helped to build a model railway for St Nicolas' Church in Birmingham and I guess that is how he got interested in trains."

From their shared bedroom, Hilary watched as Veronica packed their belongings.

"Christopher's been so sad since Daddy went away to war, and he doesn't even play with us anymore."

"Well maybe we should cheer him up," suggested Veronica. "Any ideas?"

"How about a friendship bracelet?" asked Hilary, sporting a happy face.

"It could work," said Veronica doubtfully. "But we're siblings, we're already friends for life."

Back in his room, Christopher wondered about Margaret, who had finished packing the rest of his belongings.

"Will you at least come with me?" he asked her.

"I have to stay behind and protect the fort," she said, putting her hands on his shoulders. "They're hiring women in the army and I might be able to find a job in a factory or-"

Christopher turned away from her before she could say anything else, but she resumed after five seconds.

"Even if I could go, there might not be enough room on the train."

"I'd rather stay here, but if we're going to meet Dad at the station, then…I can at least give him a proper good bye."

Margaret smiled.

"Now that's the boy I always want to remember how much he loved about travel."

"At least I'll be going by train," Christopher added and his mother left the room to fetch her own bags.

There was still enough money for one way tickets that the family had been saving for the holidays that were interrupted by the war. On their way to Euston Station by cab, it was finally agreed that Veronica, Hilary and Christopher would take separate trains to Oxenholme, specifically with Christopher taking one train that would leave five minutes early before his sisters, who would take the next one. Margaret would be going to Dover an hour later and Wilbert and George would be the last to leave on a train bound for the Strensall Barracks in York.

In the station, a thick sea of legs and knees moving about in all directions, Wilbert and Christopher sat down on a bench and took their time to speak since breakfast. Christopher, placing the messenger's bag on his lap, listened to his father sensing the sadness in his eyes.

"I know you don't want to leave Christopher, but you just have to understand that the city is not the best place to be during a war."

"I know, Daddy. But I'd rather stay here with you."

"You're ten years old. The only place you could have in the army is working as a messenger boy."

The announcer, belonging to a man, came on the loudspeaker.

"Attention passengers, the train leaving for Oxenholme will be departing from Platform 1 in five minutes."

The father and son, hearing this, stood up and Wilbert put his hands on Christopher's shoulders.

"Now, be a good boy and take care of your sisters…and when this war is over, we can go home."

He hugged his son for what seemed like the longest time, then Christopher looked up at his father again, wanting to remember his face should he be killed in battle. But he did not wish to think about it, so he asked positively.

"Will you be here when you come and get me?"

Wilbert hugged him again.

"I will, of course I will. But if you ever truly need me, I'll be in York."

Christopher didn't know if his father was making a hint at changing his mind, and before he could reply, he was out of his arms and heading straight towards the crowd, camouflaged by other children and adults parting and waving goodbye, possibly to never see each other again. Now on his own, he was frightened and he didn't know what to do. He called "Dad?" about only once, but Christopher wasn't sure if he could return to the place where he and Wilbert left the girls and Uncle George, so he hurried over to the nearest platform he could find where children around his age were boarding an LMS train. Some of them were even going with their mothers for an understandable fee while escorts helped the children into their compartments.

Taking a deep breath as everything began to speed up before him, Christopher climbed into the front platform of the brake coach and stepped into the first compartment that was empty. He resignedly sat himself down near the window on the red velvet seat, a bit uncertain at the fact that even if he didn't tell his parents where he was going, they would understand as he and his sisters were going someplace safe away from future bombings. The station was covered by crowds and scattered smoke as Christopher scanned the outside world for any sign of his family or other persons he knew from his school or neighborhood, but all he could see beyond his vantage point was another evacuation special on the next track, possibly the one for Hilary and Veronica. The patch of blue sky above the station's iron roof, covered partially by the smoke from the bombings was a clash of war and peace.

Looking feverishly at his fellow evacuees that he was likely to share a bunk with when he arrived in Oxenholme, Christopher muttered to himself.

"How can they expect me to fit in with all these strangers?"

He never wanted to leave his family in the first place, but the law was the law and he had to obey it. At least he would have his sisters and possibly one of his schoolmates for company once he arrived. The last thing he ever did was fall asleep as the engine let out a cloud of a white steam.

Little did Christopher know that he had gotten himself on the wrong train, but it would soon lead to the greatest moment of his young life.


	4. Welcome to Sodor

After two hours the train arrived at Barrow-in-Furness in Cumbria, about 52 miles away from Oxenholme. When Christopher opened his eyes, he didn't know that the journey had passed and he was surprised to find himself in a station by the sea, its air blowing into the vents of the carriage. Groggily, he stood up and walked out of the carriage…about to enter a world he had never seen before.

The other evacuees were heading to a much smaller train, consisting of two brown colored bogie coaches. Christopher could see that the coaches had the names "Annie" and "Clarabel" written in a white Kunstler Script font. He was perplexed and it did not suit his druthers.

"What kind of railway names their coaches?"

He walked up, his interests turning to the little blue tank engine with six wheels. Curiously, he observed the number 1 on its side tanks, followed by a voice that said.

"Peep! Peep! If anyone's travelling with me, make it quick. I'll be leaving in about ten minutes."

Christopher looked around.

"Who said that?" he asked, jumped by the voice.

"I did."

Then he looked at the crew of the engine who shook their heads "no" and looked behind him, then he turned to the engine.

 _This is silly,_ he thought. _Trains don't talk._

Even more curious, he checked the front of the engine, ignoring the fronts of the coaches who would have proved him wrong.

To his surprise, the engine had a smiling face that seemed to have been carved very well from the work of a master sculptor…and it moved!

"Hello...are you one of the evacuees?"

Christopher looked startled, then his face became puzzled. None of the engines back home ever had a face that could smile and speak directly from it, they had smokebox doors. But he held up his right hand, tried to strengthen up a friendly wave and said.

"Yes, I'm Christopher. I'm from London."

"I'm Thomas. I'm from Sodor. Have you heard of it?"

"I haven't and I'm supposed to wait for my sisters, Hilary and Veronica. Have you seen them?"

"No," said Thomas truthfully. "Are they coming here on the next one? Gordon will be taking the next batch once I've returned."

"Who," asked Christopher. "Is Gordon?"

"He's a big blue express engine who likes to boast about his speed," explained Thomas. "Goes from Tidmouth to Barrow, which is the station where we are now."

"Barrow?!"

Christopher was so upset, he nearly fainted.

"First, I'm speaking to a talking tank engine and now I've gotten myself on the wrong train?" he muttered, holding his head as hard as he could.

Then he looked up at Thomas, still smiling and asked.

"I'm not dreaming, aren't I?"

"No," said Thomas. "It's a fact of life. No engine within a mile of Barrow can show their face unless it is some sort of exception, like me for example. I get your reaction loads of times whenever I meet someone who hasn't been to our island."

"Island?" asked the boy in wonder.

"Didn't I tell you already? It's Sodor! And if you want to come with me like all the other children, I suggest you climb on board."

Christopher obeyed and walked towards Annie. It surprised him even further when he saw that even the coaches had faces of their own. Carefully, he got into the first compartment and sat his belongings down on the floor. A second later the train jerked and he was out of the station, watching the pillars of a bascule bridge moving past him followed by trees and finally stopping at a large station. The station, called Vicarstown, was large with eight tracks going into it, the far east side used for goods trains. In addition, Vicarstown had a shed for engines, coaches and a turntable near an embankment where a ditch lay.

The guard opened the doors, the children got off and only Christopher stayed aboard. He walked out once the last child had parted onto the platform and moved to Thomas.

"So," Christopher asked, hands on hips. "Maybe now I can tell you how I was supposed to meet up with my sisters?"

"You are an evacuee like every other child and the law requires that you'd be taken to the country for safekeeping," Thomas estimated. "Is there a problem with that?"

Christopher looked back at the hosts greeting the children. Among their answers of "I'll take that one", some of the children seemed reluctant to fit in with an adult stranger. Turning back to Thomas, Christopher said.

"Yes there is. I'm not sure if I can fit in with all those strangers. I don't even know where Hilary and Veronica are as of late and I have nowhere else to go."

"What does your name tag say?" asked Thomas. "It will specify the host you are going to."

Christopher read the label.

"Reginald and Iris Dalby in Oxenholme. Dad's friends. I think they work for Edmund Ward."

"The publisher of children's books?" Thomas inquired. "If you ask me, they should do stories about our railway."

"Is it that interesting?"

"Yes. There are many stories here on Sodor that could fill a book."

They were quiet for about five seconds before Thomas spoke back.

"Is there anything else you'd like to tell me? If not, I can take you to the sheds where I live and we can talk some more."

Christopher chose the latter, uncertain of what to say. He climbed aboard Annie again and Thomas set off once more, humming to himself. Stations, tunnels and bridges went by as the day passed into the late afternoon. Christopher enjoyed watching the scenery that changed rapidly before his eyes peering out the window, a wonderful sight of color that he had missed out on the journey to Barrow. Bluebells and leaves were giving way to the autumn colors and even the sky was clearing up. The sounds of ship horns could be heard all the way from the sea as they got closer to it and for the first time in months, Christopher smiled. His mind being away from his father brought peace and a focus of attention on something more interesting than relying on his family.

At last he reached the nearest end of the line known to inhabitants as Tidmouth. Thomas left the coaches in the carriage shed and went off to notify his fellow engines about his new friend. He told Christopher to stay behind while he searched. The station ahead of the yard had four terminal lines and platforms sheltered by a glass roof and an extra line of track that headed past the station to the local dockyards and a branch line going north. The sheds in front of the station had six rails leading into it and a turntable located to the left side on a track connecting to the main line.

Thomas found behind two suburban coaches his friend Percy, who had been bought by the railway when the big engines went on a labour strike. Percy was a smart little green tank engine with four wheels and carried the number 6 on his cab sides.

"Good day, Thomas," he greeted. "Back from the mainland?"

"If you mean by the entirety of it, Percy. I only went as far as Barrow."

"Well, it would be nice to see the rest of the world one of these days. Anything interesting over there?"

"Some, but I think I've made a new friend with one of the evacuees."

"And where is this evacuee?"

"I left him with Annie and Clarabel by the carriage shed."

So they puffed over to the carriage shed, only to find Christopher walking to another shed—one where the engines went to rest whenever they were not working. In the shed was a blue engine with four wheels and most notably had a tender with the number "2" on the tender's sides. It slept so peacefully that Christopher did not want to wake him up, so he walked quietly over by the wall closest to the engine and waited for Thomas.

The smaller blue engine came with Percy about a minute later, whispering quietly to prevent the tired engine from waking up.

"I see you met Edward," Thomas said.

Christopher stammered at both Edward and Percy, seeing their faces.

"He's—he's—"

"Alive?" asked Percy.

And thanks to his loud reply, Edward opened one eye.

"Oh," he yawned, seeing Christopher. "A new arrival?"

"A new personal friend of mine," explained Thomas. "I just picked him up from Barrow with the other evacuees, but didn't want to go with them."

"I didn't even want to have anything to do with them," Christopher added, crossing his arms. "But at least Thomas here was grateful to let me stay here, even though I never expected myself to sleep in a shed."

"So it would seem," chuckled Edward. "But I think Thomas forgot to mention your name."

"Christopher. Christopher Awdry."

The name seemed to ring some distant bells into Edward's memory. Thomas was too busy looking out for the other engines to overhear.

"I seem to remember another person by the name of Awdry during the last war. Are you two related?"

Christopher did not wish to talk about his distant father.

"Who wants to know?"

Then without another word, he pushed the thought aside and thought about how he was going to live in this strange new world of talking steam engines.

A little later, he decided to set up a hammock on the right side wall of the shed that was close to where Thomas usually slept. Assisted by Edward's crew who had the day off, he made sure that one side of the hammock was close to where he could speak to any of the engines face to face. Soon, while relaxing there, he met the other tender engines as they returned from work: First came Gordon, the big blue engine that Thomas mentioned earlier, followed by a big green engine named Henry, two red engines named James and Eagle and two more blue engines, one a B12 numbered 98462, the other a B17 numbered 87546 from the LNER. They were bemused to see a young boy sleeping in their shed and that was when Thomas, after shunting three coal trucks on a siding out of the way, came to tell them before their curiosity turned into impatient anger.

"I can tell you all about the boy," Thomas said quickly. "His name is Christopher and he is an evacuee."

"He looks like an evacuee," said Gordon, frowning. "Or he could be a runaway."

"He looks so peaceful resting there," said Henry, softly.

"Do you think anyone would want a young boy playing in our yard?" asked 98462 bitterly.

"No?" 87546 was nowhere near as intelligent as his colleague, but he was underestimated by his fellow engines for his strength.

"He cannot live here!" protested James. "What if he's a naughty sort of boy who likes to tease an engine more than a truck?"

"The only reason he's here is because of the war," Eagle reasoned. "Which, if I recall has driven many people out of their homes."

A moaning sound filled the shed as he finished.

"Mum?"

Christopher woke up and nearly fell from his hammock to see the engines staring at him.

"This is impossible," he muttered before accepting the living engines as fact.

"It may seem that way to many people," responded Thomas. "But that's life."

"I can see that."

Christopher cleared his throat, stood up and walked over to the green engine.

"I know who you two are," Christopher pointed to Thomas and Edward. "So what's your name?"

"Henry."

Christopher moved to the next engine and deduced his identity by his size.

"You must be Gordon, Thomas told me about you."

Gordon was flattered, his cheeks turning a slight tinge of red that could have rivalled the red twins to his left. Christopher pointed them out.

"Brothers?" he asked them.

"Very much," James smiled to Eagle.

Eagle was silent, but smiled.

Skipping Percy, Christopher walked to the two blue engines next to him.

"98462 and this is my associate 87546," the B12 answered for him.

With the number of engines completed, Christopher returned to Thomas when a blue car pulled up on the other end of the shed. Out of it stepped Sir Topham Hatt, the man in charge of all the engines on Sodor. For obvious reasons, they called him "The Fat Director". He stood in front of James and Eagle, right in the very middle where the engines could hear him.

"Well, another day has come and gone and with London facing attacks as we speak, I hope you have all been really useful enough to support the war effort and providing need for those leaving the mainland."

His eyes noticed Christopher, standing by Thomas.

"Including some…"

He walked over to Christopher, curious, but professional in his own way of handling children.

"And who might you be, young one?"

"Christopher," the boy said straight and strong. "Christopher Awdry."

This time, Thomas heard the last name and his eyes went wide, but he kept his mouth shut for the time being.

"And I reckon you are one of the new arrivals?" asked the Fat Director. "We have not had too many evacuees since before the bombing."

Christopher took this in with one breath and replied.

"I'm supposed to be in Oxenholme with my sisters, but anywhere is better than being bombed."

The truth was, Christopher missed his home as much as he was starting to miss his family.

Before the Fat Director left, he instructed Gordon to take the 5:00 evening train from the station ahead of the sheds, while the others, save for Thomas and Percy, also went on with their early evening duties. Now alone, Thomas spoke to Christopher.

"You should consider yourself fortunate, Christopher. Our railway, whilst connected to the mainland railways, is not very well known and if we cannot provide a major effort that will help the war…we're useless."

"Isn't this enough?" asked Christopher.

"All I wanted was to see the world, and I haven't had it since I first came here twenty-five years ago. I mean, what part of being really useful does the Fat Director not understand?"

"I'm sure he does. You just don't know it yet."

"It's not so hard for one engine to make a difference and my friends count as well."

"So let me get this straight, you want to get every engine on this island to fight for England at the same time?"

"Well…yes."

Christopher sat down on the hammock and tried to reason with Thomas.

"Is it because you and the others are all more…alive than most engines?"

"To tell you the truth," Thomas confessed. "Business hasn't been going well since the Great Slump that started in America."

But Christopher had to disagree.

"I'm sure the railway will get its money from evacuees. Business often blooms during wartime, or so my grandparents told me."

Mentioning his late relatives caused Christopher to lie back down on the hammock. He turned his face away from Thomas, not letting him see the tears he was yet to sprout, but he managed to prevent them. Then he turned back and asked.

"When exactly did you say you were in England the last time?"

"May 12th, 1915," said Thomas, remembering. "They picked me and Edward for the completion of the railway and I had to go all the way from Brighton with a long and heavy train full of supplies and passengers, among them a young Wilbert Awdry."

Then it was Christopher's turn to gape.

"That's my father's name!"

"I thought that name sounded familiar."

Christopher leaned closer to Thomas and asked.

"What was he like?"

"He was five years old and travelling with his half-brother Carol-Edward who enlisted for the Sodor Regiment, that's our army by the way and the only reason he did so was to get away from the zeppelin bombings. Prior to that, he was the first person I ever saw when I was built at Brighton Works, for it was his father who worked for the company that constructed me. He missed his—your family when he got there and after one thing led to another, he and his father, your grandfather, were reunited and went back to the mainland with his half-brother."

"Why didn't he tell me all of this?" asked Christopher.

"He probably doesn't remember what it was like to be five years old," explained Thomas. "And Vere must be around ninety by now."

"Grandfather and Grandmother are dead," admitted Christopher in a sad voice. "Bombs got them. And now I fear for whatever's left of my family. We all have families somewhere, but when war comes, it can tear them apart."

"Those words sound very strong for a child your age," said Thomas, mystified.

"Don't mention it," Christopher said before turning his back to him.

"I am sorry about your grandparents," Thomas said after three seconds.

But the boy did not stir for another bit.

Later that night, in order to ensure that Christopher's first night on Sodor was as comfortable as possible, the engines decided to tell stories of their previous lives before Sodor. As soon as the lights from the Fat Director's office had been turned off, Gordon was the first to tell his tale.

"When I was young and green, I dreamed of pulling the legendary Orient Express from London to Istanbul in just two days. But I came down from that cloud real quickly when the Fat Director bought me straight out of Doncaster. Now I pull the express and for that I am very proud of it."

Edward was the next to tell his story about the time Gordon got stuck on a hill with a dirty goods train.

"He forgot all about me and didn't even say so much as a thank you. I was left out of breath and far behind, but I was pleased with myself and so were my driver and fireman. And that is how I became the smartest engine in the shed."

Then Henry spoke about the time he was bricked up in a tunnel for being afraid of the rain.

"My fire had gone out, soot and dirt from the tunnel roof spoiled my green paint, I was cold, unhappy and I wondered if I would ever pull trains again. But I guess I deserved it, didn't I?"

"You didn't need to," sympathized Christopher.

After a while, Henry finished the story.

"And that is how Edward, Gordon and I became great friends. Now how about we go to sleep?"

Christopher was not ready for bed just yet.

"Can I at least hear one more story?"

"Three stories is enough for one night, Christopher," Henry said kindly.

"What about James?"

"I am not telling any more stories about bootlaces!" fumed James. "Any more and my reputation could be ruined."

Percy didn't think that any of his former tales at the workshop would be that interesting and none of the remaining engines were willing to tell anymore stories so Christopher gave up. He removed his shoes, shirt, socks and used his blazer as a blanket, curling up in the hammock as he said quietly.

"Good night."

But he stayed awake long enough to hear Gordon boast about another detail of his early life.

"Did I mention about the time I was in a trial?"

"You mean like a competition?" asked Percy.

"A trial," corrected Gordon. "Is like a test of strength done by the board of directors of a railway to see if you are fit for being really useful. I'm sure you remember all of yours, but mine was just about as interesting, seeing how my brother Great Northern and I did passenger runs from King's Cross to Edinburgh Waverley. They called it the Flying Scotsman after a race course in Doncaster. In fact, nearly all of my brothers and sisters were named after race horses like Solario, Pretty Polly, Lemberg and Flying Fox."

"You can't be serious about that," said James with his eyes drooping. "Who ever heard of engines being named after horses with such colorful titles?"

"Colorful as they may be, Sir Frederick Banbury had an engine named after him because he was chairman of the Great Northern Railway before it was even grouped."

James seemed to recognize the name with great respect, as the late Sir Banbury was also a conservative member of parliament with a very diligent reception.

"Now count your blessings and go to sleep, good night!" finished Gordon.

Soon they were all asleep, but Christopher could only stare at the bright white moon shining through the shutters and the roof windows. He began to murmur and shiver from the cold that struck his exposed skin with tiny needles.

"I can't believe I'm so far away….might as well get used to it."

Then he fell asleep and began to dream.

In his dream, where everything was monochrome, he was back in his house where his father hugged him very tightly after returning home from a long crusade. Dreams as he had put them were so great…but not so great as the loud knock on the door that followed.

"Don't go," he pleaded.

"I have to...I will be right back, I promise."

He reached for the door and pulled it open. Then everything went into a bright white light….and everything was gone.

Christopher woke up very shocked to find himself back in the engine shed. His shout startled Thomas, who also woke up in time to hear the boy holding his head in distress.

"What's going on with me?" he wondered out loud for the first time since his father left. "Am I starting to…break down?"

"You're probably still scared of the dark," Thomas yawned slightly.

"I'm not!" Christopher replied angrily before calming. "I'm sorry, this is all just happening so fast."

"Is it something else?" asked Thomas.

"Yes," Christopher sobbed quietly. "I'm going to miss my dad so much."

Then Thomas had an idea.

"If you want a happy dream, why not I tell you my story. This one is likely to lift your spirits. It's about how I got my own branch line."

"What did you do then? Were you a shunter?"

"Yes, I was a shunter, a station pilot if you may, who wanted to see the world beyond my yard outside the island. It all started when Henry got ill. So, I volunteered to take his train and set off, only to find out that I left the coaches behind."

"How did that happen?"

"The shunter forgot to couple them. Anyway, after that little mishap, Edward offered me to take some trucks to his station, they pushed me down the hill and I nearly crashed into the buffers. The Fat Director told me to shunt trucks around Edward's yard for a few days so I could learn more about them. Eventually, when James came to the island and had an accident on his first day, I took the breakdown train to help clear up the mess and the Fat Director gave me a branch line all to myself with Annie and Clarabel as my personal coaches."

"Is that all?"

"Nope, I had many other adventures on my branch line after that. First, I left Clarabel's guard behind, then I met a tractor named Terence who helped me out of a snowdrift and had a race with a bus named Bertie who thought that roads were better than rails. I won the race and we have been best friends ever since. We could do another race again, but that seems very unlikely."

Christopher was silent, thinking about it before Thomas asked him.

"So, did you like the story?"

"Yes," replied Christopher. "But I'm tired. I think I'm ready to go to sleep now. Good night, Thomas."

As Christopher cuddled himself in the blanket and blazer, Thomas whispered.

"Good night, Christopher."

Thomas fell fast asleep and Christopher began to dream again. True to Thomas' word, his dreams were peaceful ones, memories actually about their time before the war started. Memories of school dance, fishing, playing chess, cards and even trainspotting all reminded the boy that some things would never leave him. He was certain that his equally lonely father, far away from the island was thinking about his son as well.

"Good night, Daddy…wherever you are."


	5. The War Department

_5:55 a.m., Monday, September 9_ _th_ _, 1940_

The next day came and the engines were still asleep along with Christopher and their crew. When the sun had reached its peak above the flat horizon of the ocean, the Fat Director came in blowing a whistle, followed by the firelighter who jumped into Thomas' cab and lit his boiler.

"WAKE UP! WAKE UP!" he boomed, bringing a chorus of yawns and moans from the engines.

To the crew and Christopher, he shouted.

"GET UP AND OUT OF BED, ALL OF YOU! IT IS A BIG DAY TODAY!"

"It's so early," Christopher yawned, sitting up from the hammock.

"And it's a Monday," groaned Thomas.

"I appreciate your awareness of the time, Thomas," said the Fat Director. "As for the weather, it is getting rather cloudy outside and we may expect a shower. But that's not important right now, what's important is that the War Department called and they are coming to inspect us. So in order to make a good impression on them, you have to clean the yard and put the trucks and coaches from yesterday into their proper sidings."

"Weren't they supposed to notify us?" asked Thomas, now fully awake.

"Aren't I supposed to be knighted by the Queen herself?" the Fat Director asked sarcastically. "If that ever comes to be, I suggest you start cleaning up the yard and get your trains ready!"

"The Queen?" James was hopeful that he would have a chance to take her to Sodor someday.

"Never mind, James," said the Fat Director. "I was being sarcastic. Also, to preserve our resources for the army, no engine shall have more than one wash down a day. Usefulness before cleanliness."

He turned on his heels and walked away. But no sooner did he turn when James began to grumble.

"I hate having to go onto those dirty sidings. It makes my paint all sooty."

The Fat Director heard this and turned back.

"Really useful engines don't argue! And if I have to hear so much as one complaint from you, Henry or Gordon, I'll have to shut you up again."

Instantly James changed his mind and agreed to work hard. As his driver climbed aboard, Percy's fire was being lit and he yawned loudly enough for half the shed to hear.

"I was having the best dream ever; pulling the post train to all the army bases in the world."

"Save your dreams for when the War Department chooses you," teased 98462. "Because I don't think they'd want a small engine like you."

Before any of them could respond, the Fat Director returned with a checklist just in time to see Christopher fully dressed and ready to start the day.

"Now work like your life depends upon it because I assure you, it will!"

"Yes sir," said the engines.

The Fat Director gave Christopher a long mop and bucket and left for his office. Christopher figured that he had been assigned to clean the engines when all the work was done. As Thomas, Edward, Percy, Eagle and 87546 left the shed, starting to work with the trucks, Christopher joined them in a song. It was far from lackadaisical, it was patriotic in a way of representing the labor and toil that made their island great. Most of all, it was about Thomas.

 _He's a really useful engine, you know!_

 _All the other engines, they'll tell you so!_

 _He huffs and puffs and whistles, rushing to and fro._

 _He's the really useful engine we adore!_

But the tender engines only complained.

"Less singing and more shunting!" shouted Henry.

"Make sure my paintwork shines!" whined James to Christopher who was scrubbing him with the mop.

"Fetch my coaches!" finished Gordon to the tank engines.

Glares were fired upon the tender engines of oh-so-high authority before the others went back to singing.

 _He's a really useful engine you know!_

' _Cause the Fat Director, he told him so!_

 _Now's he's got a branch line to call his very own._

 _He's the really useful engine we adore!_

Percy and Edward went into a duet as they loaded coal into the trucks from a ramp.

 _Little blue train._

 _He's always there whenever you need a hand._

 _If you need help with a situation._

 _Who comes into mind?_

 _He's the one!_

 _He's the number one!_

 _Thomas the tank engine._

Thomas smiled at this compliment, but Henry's shout of "I said no singing!" urged him to whisper the last verse.

 _He's the really useful engine we adore._

At last the work was finished, Percy took some workmen in a brakevan to Knapford, rushing back to Tidmouth as fast as he could to make it in time for the inspection. He came back just in time to find the engines putting on their best smiles that Christopher thought looked ridiculous. The men and women of the War Department wore typical suits of black tweed jackets and derbies. Some had checklists while others kept their hands by their sides, eyeing the engines with sharp glances. They came onboard a military green brakevan named Bradford and a coach named Hannah, who were coupled to a large LMS Stanier Class 8F.

"We will see about giving you proper colors in the precaution of a nightly air raid," they said.

None of them, especially James, wanted to change colors. They were too complacent, but the law was the law and they had no choice. The engines hoped it wouldn't take long to part with their paintwork and a little while later, the shed was surveyed by Hugo, the propeller engine who gave a review of his year's work.

"What I have seen so far is nothing much to speak of other than the beauty of your island," he said in a light accent. "No flaws to speak of other than the fact that steam engines are a cause of pollution. They'll come and go, but I'll still be here. With my propeller, passengers will want to ride in an engine of the future. An engine that is eco-friendly and doesn't spoil the air with dirty smoke."

The engines felt shocked.

"I could tell you things about that propeller," Gordon stood out to speak. "Someone could get hurt if they were too close to it."

"So they'll learn," murmured Hugo.

"And if they don't?" asked James.

"Then it is their fault," Hugo continued. "And when this war is over, they should produce more of me. Faster, stronger and cleaner engines that will eventually supersede last century's steam powered machines of outdated qualities. In short, you are surprisingly old-fashioned and out of date, bound for the knacker's yard one might say."

And he left to find a shed of his own.

"How can he talk to us like that? Especially after he's been working with us for a whole year!"

Thomas was just about shocked as the others, but the shock had soon turned into fury.

"I suppose that is what happens when you let the idea of modernism go to your smokebox," replied Edward. "But we won't let him. Perhaps we can make him see things from our point of view."

"Like what?" asked James.

"That some engines have some respect for the environment, even if they are killing it," said Henry.

Percy had his own suspicions about the newcomer, but trying to impress the War Department came first.

Nobody had noticed until later that Christopher was missing. He had gone to the beach after cleaning James and Eagle, wearing nothing but his shorts. Intent on getting his mind off of his father, a good swim was all he needed after bending his back on the strokes of polishing James' golden dome fifty times over. Now he could just relax and feel the sea air hitting his bare chest with soft blows.

At first he placed his feet against the part of the sand where the water stopped, watching families distant to his left playing in the water. Christopher would have loved to play with them, but he had to be careful of strangers. He moved slowly into the water, which was cold at first as September had already been moving in completely. Then with faster steps he splashed into the water and dived under, doing back flips, twirls, loop-de-loops and heavy strokes once he reached the surface. It reminded him of the first time he and his father went to the Brockwell Lido went it first opened three years ago, the event also being the first time he learned how to swim, and he did it masterfully. But those thoughts just slowed him down and brought him back to the surface.

"Where are you now, Dad?" Christopher sobbed quietly as he sat down on a rock.

A minute later, as the engines waited for further news from the Department, Thomas asked.

"Where's Christopher?"

"I last saw him heading over to the hammock after he finished cleaning me," said James. "It's not like he could have vanished into thin air."

"Except for his clothes," noticed his driver. "They're lying on the hammock."

"Now why would he do that?" wondered Gordon.

"I could think of no other reason than going for a swim," said Henry. "If he's only wearing trousers."

"Now the question is," added Edward. "Where exactly is there a place to swim?"

Percy looked to his left.

"The beach?"

"I think he's right," said 87546 to 98462. "There's not even a lido around here for miles."

"There are some," 98462 rectified. "But not as close as here."

"Anyone want to fetch him?" asked Eagle after a silent ten seconds.

"I will," announced Thomas. "I met him first, he's my responsibility."

And he puffed his way over to the main line by a brick wall where he found Christopher climbing over to his side, still wet.

"Have you been in the water that long?" Thomas asked him.

"Yes," he nodded.

"Would you like a hot drink to make you feel right again?"

"No, I just need a rest."

He climbed into Thomas' cab and the engine brought him back to the shed. When Christopher was fully dressed, Gordon backed down and asked in his own snooty way.

"How was the water?"

"Relaxing," replied Christopher.

"Well, I have news for you, child: the inspectors from the War Department told us that we are now going to take part in the war. As of next week, we're going to be painted black and we have to work harder than before with all these evacuees coming in."

"Did they say anything else?"

"They may want to bring in another engine if they have the time and money. Hopefully they'll be more civil than that Hugo ingrate who thinks he can replace all of us."

And he went off in a humph to take his next train out in the evening.

Later that night, once the Fat Director and Christopher had gone to sleep, Thomas quietly conversed with the others.

"I am so excited! What better way for us to help the war effort by having the Department allow us to participate in the fight?"

"If you mean like delivering and taking evacuees," said Henry mournfully. "The only fight we have is competition as usual."

Thomas looked over at the bare-chested and barefoot Christopher snuggling in his blanket, he appeared to be sleeping fitfully.

"It's also our job to comfort them," Thomas agreed with Henry. "Christopher's lost his family and his home all in one day, but he's not alone. We might as well introduce him to other children who are in the same predicament as he is."

"I agree with you, Thomas," said Edward. "Perhaps tomorrow you can take him and the next batch of evacuees to your branch line. I'm sure Christopher will make new friends there. The train yard is no safe place for a boy his age after all. But for now, I say we all get some sleep. We may have another big day tomorrow."

The engines replied good night in return and went to sleep…except Christopher. He had opened one eye and sat up, looking through the windows to the dark sky, speechless. After three seconds, he cuddled in his blanket and tried dreaming about his father again…but his head was empty and he started to cry. Defeated, Christopher buried his face into the hammock and whispered silently to himself.

"Oh, Mummy, Hilary, Veronica, Uncle George, Grandma, Grandpa, Daddy…will I ever see you again?"


	6. Branch Line Tour

_6:00 a.m., Tuesday, September 10th, 1940_

The next morning came with a change of weather. Clouds were moving in from the North Sea and rain fell over the areas that covered it. Hugo's shape loomed against the ocean as he purred his way to Tidmouth, stopping there to pick up some early passengers.

"It is time," he said to his new driver. "That we infiltrate their base."

His driver, who had served as last year's replacement, was just one of Nazi Germany's best espionage agents, trained in self-defense, gunplay and stealth.

"And when the time is right," the driver added. "Our forces will attack the industrial areas of this island and the Isle of Man and rest assured that England will have no choice but to surrender to us."

"Perhaps," said Hugo, doubtfully. "But don't count your chickens. My plan is to ensure that every steam engine is replaced by my kind."

"You mean _schrott_ them?"

" _Ja. Schrott._ "

The arrival of the early passengers snapped them out of their sinister exterior. They climbed aboard and Hugo sniggered away, pleased with his plan.

"It will be a good one," he chuckled. "That fat director will give more work opportunities for us diesels and no more steam engines."

But he said it to himself.

Over by the shed, the engines were just about waking up. Percy went first to sort out the coaches for Gordon's train, catching a fleeting glimpse of Hugo purring away down the main line. Then he went to fetch some trucks for 87546 and Henry. He could feel the fear from what Hugo said to him and the others yesterday, and became worried for his future.

A little later, Thomas planned his day out with Christopher to Eagle. But the red engine had other things to say.

"Gordon, James and I were just speaking about Christopher. We agree that he is too young to understand what war can really do to a person, and him missing his father is proof of that."

"Not to worry, Eagle," replied Thomas. "I'll be taking care of him until the war ends."

"Anyway, I must be going. You really are a very hospitable engine, little Thomas."

And off he steamed to take a double header with James' passenger train. Thomas backed down to the shed where Christopher was still sleeping in the hammock and blew his whistle twice. Christopher shot up from the sound, looking shocked. He composed himself before turning to Thomas.

"What is it?" he yawned, stretching his arms.

"How would you like to spend the day on my branch line?"

"Would I?" Christopher thought about it for a moment.

"I accept."

And he hurriedly got his shirt and shoes on.

Thomas was coupled up to Annie and Clarabel in the carriage shed and Christopher walked over to him, carrying his suitcase. The boy wasn't sure which coach he was to ride on, so he hopped into Thomas' cab and they set off for the branch line. They started at Tidmouth and took some new evacuees to Knapford Junction where Henry was waiting with his train. The big green engine was cross with Thomas for being late, but was surprised to see Christopher riding in the cab. The boy waved at Henry and before he could whistle back a reply, Thomas was off.

They stopped at Dryaw, which was close to an airfield with two aeroplanes lying close to the station. Christopher watched from the cab as a biplane, whose name was Tiger Moth landed on the grassy field. Then they stopped at Toryreck to let off three passengers: a man, woman and their baby boy.

Soon they approached Elsbridge, a station by two of his favourite sights, the River Els and a cricket field where an old car named Caroline watched her owners playing the game with good efforts.

"Did I mention to you last night that one time I went fishing in the river?" Thomas asked Christopher.

"No."

"The river has always been a sort of place where I can look forward to something wonderful," Thomas went on. "I wanted to fish too like all the other people but after I discovered that there were fish in my boiler after the water tower went out of order, I learned that engines don't go fishing, it's too uncomfortable."

"Dad and I often went fishing too," remembered Christopher.

As they rumbled over the bridge, they could see people fishing, Christopher would have loved to stay and play a few games at the cricket field, but Thomas had to remain on time.

Soon they passed the field where Terence the tractor was hard at work plowing the ground. Thomas whistled hello and Christopher waved from the cab. Terence noticed Thomas, but he and his driver were too busy to reply.

At the tunnel up ahead was a cottage with a woman waving to them. She was cleaning her laundry on a rack.

"That's Mrs. Kyndley," cried Thomas to Christopher.

Christopher waved at Mrs. Kyndley before she had time to respond and went back to hanging her husband's laundry. They wooshed through the tunnel, straight past the town of Hackenbeck and arrived at the final destination of Ffarquhar. Christopher got off and Thomas, having been uncoupled from Annie and Clarabel went over to the water tower near his red bricked shed. The carriage shed was right next door to Thomas' berth. It was fashioned with orange wood and had two rails leading into it, fit for both coaches, should they be uncoupled.

The evacuated children on the platform were greeted by their host and Christopher, still uncertain as to whether or not accompany a group of other children he was unfamiliar with, walked over to Thomas' shed for advice. True to what he said the next time they met, the shed looked too small for him to sleep in.

"Any idea as to where I should go? If your shed doesn't have any room for me to sleep in, where can I sleep?"

"My driver lives in the house next to the stationmaster's on the right. He can take you there."

Christopher followed the driver to the white painted two story house where the man knocked on the door. His wife opened it for him.

"Are you taking the day off?" she asked.

"For the time being," said the driver. "I also wanted to introduced you to this young lad here. His name is Christopher. An evacuee from the mainland. I hear he might be staying with us until the end of the war."

"An evacuee?" the wife was surprised, but not as surprised as she sounded. "Oh my poor dear, you must have been shocked to know that your city was going to be attacked by those foul Germans."

"I was there when they bombed my neighborhood," Christopher tried hard not to think about it.

"Come inside and maybe we can talk some more," replied the wife.

And she led Christopher into the kitchen, where they had a nice lunch of ham sandwiches. About thirty seconds into the meal, they were joined by a girl who looked just about Christopher's age. She had black hair, beautiful eyes that sparkled in the sun and wore a dark purple dress with an olive green blazer. Christopher stared blankly at the girl as she pulled up a chair and sat down next to him.

"I almost forgot about you," said her mother turning to the children. "Diana, this is Christopher, who's going to live with us until the war ends."

Diana waved hello to him with her left hand while he did the same with his right. Eventually, his lips shaped into a friendly smile and Christopher had come to the point of trusting her.

"So where are you from?" the girl asked him.

"London," replied Christopher.

"How interesting," Diana said. "As a city kid, you must know all about it."

"I do, but not every borough."

"Then tell me: where exactly is the location of St. Pancras?"

"In Camden."

They talked for minutes after lunch about themselves, they talked about trains at dinner after Diana came back from school and they finished talking about family life when Christopher got ready for bed.

"They seemed to be having a good time," said Clarabel to Annie before Thomas went to sleep.

Christopher did not mind sharing Diana's bed, but aside from giving her a full view of his bare chest and feet, he was worried about something else the minute he pulled the covers up to his neck.

"Sweet dreams, Christopher," said Diana as she closed her eyes.

"That's the problem, Diana. I don't think my dreams are going to be that good. I don't even want to go to sleep. If I sleep I dream and if it is one of my family, I'll wake up and I'll be alone again."

"You are not alone," Diana said turning over to him.

"But you're not my family," Christopher said sadly. "You're just somebody I've only known for the last six hours or more."

"But at least we got to know each other during that time."

"You are right. But sometimes I wonder if they'll still be alive if I ever return home, since my grandparents have already died."

"They will be…if you can think of a happy memory."

Christopher closed his eyes, trying to think back.

"I remember helping Dad when we picked out a train set for our Christmas tree. It was a little blue engine…like Thomas that had two coaches and it had a station in the front. Mum only told me about two days ago that he and Uncle George built a full scale set back before I was even born. I tried to imagine what it would be like being a steam engine…but those silly dreams just vanished when Dad went out the door along with the rest of my childhood."

And without even realizing it, Christopher had fallen asleep. Diana, in a moment of curiousness, hovered her right index finger over his back and drew a circle with it.

"My mum used to do that to me whenever I needed comfort," Christopher mumbled. "Good night, Diana."

"Goodnight, Christopher," Diana whispered.

And pretty soon, both the boy and the girl fell fast asleep with no sounds to disturb them other than the gentle breeze of the wind outside.


	7. Other Railways and the Swing Party

_10:45 a.m., Wednesday, September 11_ _th_ _, 1940_

Now Sodor did not just have a standard railway with one main line and five branches, it had two narrow gauge lines on opposite sides of the island and a rack railway in the center. These three were known as The Mid-Sodor, Skarloey and Culdee Fell Railways. They helped to provide minerals, sightseeing views, lead, and many other things to people from all over and abroad.

On the MSR, there lived ten engines. Their names were Duke, Stuart, Falcon, Albert, Atlas, Jim, Tim, Jerry, Stanley and Smudger, the last two having been turned into pumping engines after recklessly coming off the rails one too many times because neither of them had been re-gauged properly.

As for the active engines, Duke was No. 1 and the oldest of the locomotives, named after his grace, Sir Charles Robert Norramby, the Duke of Sodor. Stuart and Falcon, the youngest of the engine family, called him "Granpuff" because they were fond of him and looked up to him as a grandfather figure. But at the same time, they often got tired of hearing all about his grace. They teased Duke before his story about Stanley and Smudger made them behave better and they along with the five other engines lived in harmony for many years.

Today, Falcon and Stuart were shunting and loading trucks in the mines. They had been working for eight hours and they had little to do after that. When they decided to return home to the sheds, Stuart wanted to talk about the war.

"You know how Granpuff feels about war," Falcon reprimanded him.

"The same way he feels about you after you nearly fell off the mountain road?" asked Stuart.

"It wasn't my fault! If it hadn't been for that bend in the tracks things would have gone more successfully."

"But at least, the passengers praised you for being a bulldog who wouldn't let go."

Falcon thought back to that event.

"I guess I was a hero after all."

In spite of the many times Duke would say "That would never suit His Grace" after anything they did was wrong, he still had a few exceptions, purely for the sake of humor.

The rack rail Culdee Fell Railway began at Kirk Machan and terminated at the summit of Culdee Fell Mountain where a hotel was located nearby the station. There were four engines there, all painted purple with orange lining, six small wheels and stove piped chimneys. Their boilers were tilted downwards and their cylinders were back to front. The oddest feature was that they had two faces, one on the front and one on the back. But the faces shared the same personality and spoke in perfect synchronization. Their names were Ernest, who was No. 2, Wilfred, who was No. 3, Culdee, No. 4 and namesake of the mountain railway, and Shane Dooiney, No. 5.

Opened forty years ago after the loss of their No. 1 Godred; the engines were extra careful crossing up Devil's Back in a gale, a rocky ridge that forced passenger trains to stop at the station during winds that were fierce and very dangerous. But whatever the weather, stores trains and rescue trains must get through.

In the shed, Culdee, Ernest and Wilfred were talking about the war. Shane Dooiney had taken the Truck up the mountain to deliver a package and some gangers from the War Office to Summit Hotel. The passengers, waiting patiently for their trains, read the latest news.

"I don't suppose any of you heard that Buckingham Palace had been bombed yesterday," Culdee said to his friends. "Driver said they destroyed the entire Royal Chapel with bodies strewn about hither and tither. I have never imagined such destruction ever since Godred came off the rails."

"After taking my coach up Devil's Back in a gale that one time she's been afraid to move," sighed Ernest, changing the subject a bit. "But next time, if I reach Skarloey Road, I'll be sure to sooth her with a song or a ditty. I'm sure the manager would approve of it."

"Speaking of the manager," reminded Wilfred. "He called at the last minute and told us to start work at 11:00. You should get going Culdee, and don't spend all your time up at Summit Station watching the sunset with Catherine, we've got too much work to do, thanks to this war."

"I'll be sure to work harder now," said Culdee as he was coupling himself up to his coach Catherine. "You two might want to carry on if you don't want to keep your passengers waiting."

Ernest and Wilfred set off to work by the time Culdee had reached the next station.

The Skarloey Railway, another narrow gauge line, was the home of two little engines named Skarloey, No. 1 and Rheneas, No. 2. Both were painted red with blue lining and were the oldest engines on the island as early as 1865 and now they were just about growing old. Despite the praise of their manager, Mr. Peter Sam, the Thin Controller, service on the railway was lean and under the threat of closure if they did not work hard enough.

The morning was the only time where the two liked to discuss things before they went off to work and the topic of the day was England's involvement in the war. The coaches, Agnes, Ruth, Lucy, Jemima and Beatrice the guard's van had overheard their passengers gossiping about Germany's potential invasion of England last night.

"If the Nazi's win the war," Rheneas said to his friend. "Then no one is safe."

"Except for, perhaps, a select few," replied Skarloey. "But I would expect those words coming from a pessimist."

"I am not trying to sound pessimistic," Rheneas argued. "But it might be the truth, especially since German technology has advanced since the last war."

"If we could win the last war,' Skarloey smiled. "I am certain that we will win this one. Our technology has advanced too."

"But did you see that engine with the propeller who came here just last year? He is a German invention."

"I assumed he was, and my assumptions were correct. But I doubt he will do any harm to us."

But I am sorry to say that Skarloey was quite wrong. His driver, the spy had already made his way into the base of the Sodor Regiment at Peel Godred on Gordon's next train. There, he could now operate as a sleeper agent recording movements and updates from the British Army and submit them to his German allies. His employer was Vice-Admiral Wilhelm Canaris of the _Abwehr_ , Germany's military intelligence organization headquartered in Berlin. If they were lucky, Operation Sea Lion, the codename for the German invasion of England, would be successful. But in hopes for further convincing the heads of England to surrender, they needed to attack elsewhere: her islands.

That evening at Ffarquhar, Christopher had gone to sleep listening to the voice of Winston Churchill in Diana's bedside table. It took him a while to understand what the speech was about, after he had heard the second phrase from the moment he had curiously turned on the radio at around this sentence.

"This effort of the Germans to secure daylight mastery of the air over England is of course the crux of the whole war. So far it has failed conspicuously. It has cost them very dear, and we have felt stronger, and actually are relatively a good deal stronger, than when the hard fighting began in July. There is no doubt that Herr Hitler is using up his fighter force at a very high rate, and that if he goes on for many more weeks he will wear down and ruin this vital part of his Air Force. That will give us a great advantage."

As he listened, removing his shirt and shoes as he did, Diana joined him. She placed her hands on his shoulders and he feared the worst for his family, even though they had taken separate paths out of London. Then Diana saw how sad Christopher was when he sprouted small streaks of tears and she dabbed his eyes with a handkerchief as she helped him to bed.

The day, however, began in a brighter mood for him. He had woken up to see Diana pulling away the curtains to let the daylight in. A cloud cover was being dispersed into the sky, creating a day more gloomier than when he left home. But Diana seemed bright and cheerful in contrast to reports of showers in the Midlands.

"Good morning!" she sang-sung.

Christopher rubbed his eyes and looked out the window.

"It's probably gonna rain," he said, cuddling up in his blankets.

Diana, however, marched right up to the bed and pulled the covers off of him.

"I'd be out of bed if I were you, my dad says Thomas is going to take me to a cricket match after school."

"Cricket match?" Christopher sat up in the bed. "I guess it would be nice."

So he got dressed, had a warm breakfast and followed Diana to school, staying outside since was not an official student there. It would be a while before Christopher could resume school again since he had relocated to Sodor under his accord, an accord that would open his eyes to a world he never knew before. He spoke some more about his family to Thomas on the platform.

"I could never imagine Wilbert being a ladies man in his teen years," said Thomas, oddly. "But when you become a teenager in human years, everything becomes fast and scary with all the changes."

"Is it something I should be prepared for?" asked Christopher.

"When you are older, you will understand. But while we wait for Diana, can my driver offer you some refreshments?"

"I think I'll wait until I go to the game. Maybe they'll have snacks there."

"Have you been to a cricket match, Christopher?"

"Not since last year before the war started. For my summer holiday, I wanted to go to the World's Fair in New York to see all the American trains, but my dad said it would be too much money so he took me to a cricket match at the Oval. It was England against the West Indies. We had front row seats and to me, they were the last sunny moments of my life before he was called to war. Between that, things were pretty normal."

"Do you miss him a lot?"

"We have been close since the day I was born. Why else would I miss him so much? We did almost everything together, trainspotting, watching trains go by, listen to the radio for dramas set aboard a train, among other things."

"Other things that did not involve trains?"

"Yes."

Before he could go into detail, Diana came up to them.

"Ready to go now?" she asked the two.

"Yes," said Thomas and Christopher together.

So off they went, passing the roads that ran along the line where cars, buses and lorries did as much work as the engines did, but from a unique, if not different mode of transportation. As they pulled in, Caroline the old car was dozing, tired of waiting before the match would be put into action. The children got off and walked straight to the field while Thomas went off to resume his duties.

"I'll be back to pick you up at 3:30 sharp," he reminded them.

Sitting down on the front row of the benches, Christopher and Diana could now enjoy the game as it started at the same time they ate their sandwiches, followed by a group of other people who came in attendance. For the next thirteen minutes, the ball swung left and right all across the field, going higher and higher at each hit of the bat until it spanned the sky, out of the field and landed right next to Caroline's front bumper.

The rival team accepted their loss with a professional maturity, and Christopher, wanting more fun after that exciting game, asked Diana.

"Why not we go celebrate with the team? There may be dancing involved."

"I don't think we should leave Thomas," said Diana. "He is supposed to pick us up at 3:30."

"Stick with me," replied Christopher. "It's only 2 o'clock and we could make it back to the station in thirty minutes."

They did not have to walk very far, since the team was headed straight to a dance hall in the town across the river. The interior was fit for a small gymnasium with wooden tiles and small stage up in front. Visiting swing youths of teenage boys and girls from Dursley to Saltburn-by-the-Sea were dancing to the latest music from Vera Lynn, The Andrews Sisters, Spike Jones, Benny Goodman, Django Reinhart and many other musicians from America and England. A few soldiers and a trio of girls in uniform also attended as well, dancing on the stage in small steps. There was not a care or worry of war inside their minds, just peace, away from the war they were fighting now.

Some of them greeted Christopher and Diana the moment they came in.

"Nice of you to join us!" they said.

"Perfect place for the _Swingjugend_ to hide!" said one of the dancers.

"Do any of you know how to dance?" asked one of the girls.

"The last time I was at a dance it was back home!" shouted Christopher over the music. "What about you Diana?"

"I never had a chance to!"

"Maybe I can teach you! Just follow my lead!"

So Christopher and Diana took hands, and after an odd expression that often comes with physical contact, they did a slow waltz, the one dance that Diana seemed to be familiar with. Five steps was all she needed and soon, she was learning how to dance the Lindy Hop with the others.

Meanwhile, Thomas had just gotten back from Knapford Junction, about a minute early for the sake of his passengers. He waited an entire minute for Christopher and Diana when Bertie the bus came in.

"Bertie have you seen two children answering to the names of Christopher and Diana around here?"

"I haven't seen anyone before I got here," Bertie said regretfully. "Why those two?"

"Because I dropped them off an hour and thirty minutes ago. They were supposed to be here by now."

"If I were you, I'd check the dance hall in town. Caroline tells me that they've been holding victory celebrations there."

Without further questioning, Thomas instructed his driver.

"Will you go fetch them for me?"

The driver left the cab and marched his way into town.

Back in the dance hall, Christopher and Diana were swaying to a slower tune of Sammy Fain's "I'll Be Seeing You". Their heads were close on each other, their mouths were three inches apart and all she could say was:

"If you want to kiss me, just do it."

Christopher felt sick, as some other boys would be when experiencing love.

"I can't…" was all he could say.

Before he could apologize, Diana's father came bursting through the door.

"Diana!" he shouted. "Do you realize what time it is? You were supposed to be back at the station by 3:30!"

"I'm sorry," she said quietly.

As he and Diana were led out of the hall, further reprimanded by a nearly cross Thomas, Christopher began to feel guilty. Not only was it because of him missing the deadline, but because he felt that he had spurned Diana's feelings, and at such a young age as well. The new emotion of romance was surprising to a ten-year-old boy like himself, but he mentally admitted that he was starting to grow concerned for Diana as a friend. Even though they had only known each other for a whole day, he could not help but feel that she was someone who needed to be protected, especially since his father instructed him to take care of his sisters. But now that he had gotten on the wrong train to an island that seemed to be far, far away from his relatives, he was anguished.

Dinner was not the best time either, since an increase of food was needed for the Regiment and the British Army entirely, and all he could have was a side dish of meat, while the family had small servings of chicken in three small pieces for each member.

"It's all I can give you for the moment," Diana's mother told him.

Diana shared the remainder of her chicken with Christopher's, who ate it in small bites before retiring to bed and turning on the radio for the evening news.

And that was where it led him to. Unable to face another dream about his family, Christopher tried to think about Thomas, the cricket match, the dance and most of all, a world at peace. In his shed, Thomas could only wonder about what laid in store for the boy if his family did not survive the war. He tried not to ponder too much on the subject before his fire went completely out and he too was fast asleep.


	8. The Troubles of Bradford and Hannah

_4:50 a.m., Thursday, September 12th, 1940_

Christopher had an unpleasant night and an unpleasant dream to go with it. He dreamed about his father leaving him again, this time in a fog that was foggier than all the fogs that came to London every once in a while. The figure of his father was beginning to disappear at the moment he chased him down a long sidewalk where every house, lamppost and color of brick remained the same. Then came the sound of bombs and no matter how fast he ran, he was no match for the bombs that were blowing up behind him. When he felt the shockwave of the bomb exploding dangerously behind his back, he woke up, sobbing and gasping in a cold sweat to find himself back in Diana's bedroom. Diana herself woke up at the sound of his scream and held his shoulders.

"Christopher, what is the matter?"

Christopher choked on his sobs.

"I had a bad dream. I was running after my father, I couldn't catch up to him and I was hit by a bomb."

Diana hugged him, letting the poor boy bury his face into her chest and the girl stroked his hair the way her own mother did it when she was a bit younger.

"It's all right, Christopher."

Christopher remained in Diana's arms for the rest of the night that faded into early dawn, but he wasn't the only one wide awake at this hour.

At Tidmouth Sheds, Henry was reminded by his driver and fireman that he was to take the Flying Kipper, a special train that takes crates of fish to other places far away. Henry was reluctant to take the train, as his first time pulling the Kipper resulted in a serious collision with the brake van of a goods train that was caused by ice and snow. The damage done to him was so critical that he had to be repaired at Crewe Locomotive Works, to which the Fat Director called "a fine place for sick engines", saving him thousands of pounds on Welsh coal. Now that it was close to autumn, Henry was confident that he could pull the train without a single mishap.

The brake van that was assigned to Henry was Bradford. The other engines had taken a liking to Bradford since he made the trucks behave. However, as an official break van of the War Department, his militaristic attitude of a drill sergeant had gone to his roof at the very point where he treated his "civilian" engines unfairly. As a result, his trains were late and his superiors justified his cause by agreeing with his rules. These rules were stricter versions of railway standards that were as loud as his voice.

Henry went onto the turntable in order to pull the train head on and puffed slowly to the harbour backwards. There, dock hands were loading the vans with crates of fish from the SS _Kathryn_ , a fishing boat that often brought cargo from across the Atlantic. Her crates were picked up by crane and unloaded on the quay where the men would lift them into the vans. Remaining crates that did not have enough room in the vans were taken by lorry to shops. One of the dock hands, who was working at a late shift, was glad to see Henry backing down onto the train so that he could take the rest of the day off.

At 5 o'clock, Henry was ready. The shunter fastened the coupling, the last door was shut, the guard blew his whistle and the Flying Kipper was ready to go. Bradford, however, felt it a rude push when Henry's rear buffers made contact with the train.

"ALL RIGHT YOU LOT!" he shouted in a voice he hoped Henry and the vans would hear. "I'M IN CHARGE NOW! SO NO BUMPIN' AND NONE OF YOUR CHEEK!"

"I'll try my best!" Henry said back.

"And remember that safety always comes first Henry, even when fish are involved!" said Bradford, a little less louder this time.

"Yes, sir!" said Henry and the vans, and they started off.

But no sooner was he out of the harbour when…

"COMPANY HALT!"

Bradford set his brakes hard on, putting Henry to a complete stop.

"What's the matter?" asked the green engine.

"You are going nowhere until these mucky trucks have cleaned themselves of both smell and spills."

"But they're only fish," whined Henry.

"No matter, a dirty truck is a disorderly truck. NOW SOMEBODY BRING ME A HOSE! HUT! HUT! HUT! HUT! MOVE IT! MOVE IT!"

"Bradford, I am going to be late!"

"That's SERGEANT BRADFORD to you, private! And unless they have a very large hose, you will learn to keep your damn trap shut!"

Henry did not appreciate his tone or his use of words, but he knew better than to correct a person of higher status than him, even if it was the Fat Director or another engine or piece of rolling stock who had superiority.

It took the workmen an hour and 40 minutes to clean off the smell with a hose and buckets of clean water. Some of it was even put into Henry's tender for the extra mileage in case he needed it. By the time he was ready to leave, the sun was peaking over the horizon and with Bradford's order complete, he started off. The signalmen on the main line were informed about the delay, making sure that Henry's trip would be smoother than the last time.

Henry made good progress, moving slowly at yellow signals and speeding up a little at the green ones. Bradford did his best to control the vans, proud of his work as he constantly reminded Henry to remain steady. They sped down Gordon's Hill and made it all the way to Barrow where the stationmaster and an LMS train for the fish to be transferred waited impatiently for Henry.

"It wasn't my fault," he told him. "Bradford wanted my vans clean."

"Cleanliness is next to goodliness, but being on time is more important than a wash down," said the stationmaster. "The next time you want your trucks cleaned, I suggest doing it beforehand."

Bradford remained silent all the way back to Sodor, where Henry told the others about him.

"It seems to me that Bradford is too strict for our railway, even if he makes the trucks behave," said Gordon.

"But at least he'll keep the trucks behaved as long as we follow his orders sooner," added Edward.

"Trucks are no one's friends," stated James. "But if a military brake van can put them into place, so can this war. My driver told me about this type of effect."

"You mean scarring them?" questioned 98462. "Trauma is what they need if they don't wish to die by causing themselves anymore accidents."

"And if they were rebuilt?" asked Eagle.

"I say it's another problem," answered 87546.

Their problems would be concerned with much later, for at the same time as Hugo was waiting by Killdane to hear from the spy, Christopher was waking up to a slice of toast for breakfast. Trying to recover from his dream, he ate slowly, chewing with the seconds going quickly by. No words from Diana and her family were spoken to him and when he went outside to meet with Thomas at the station, he had already learned from James about Bradford and he told the boy about Henry's stressful morning.

"What do I care?" asked Christopher. "I just want a war-free day."

"Well, anyway," said Thomas. "I am due to pick up Hannah from Edward. The Fat Director thinks he can use her to carry extra passengers on my branch line."

He met Edward at Knapford Junction where he was waiting with the coach. Hannah had four wheels and looked old but youthful as she winked at Thomas.

"Hello, Thomas," said the coach. "I am very excited to be working with you."

Edward shunted Hannah to the back of Clarabel and left for Tidmouth to fetch his train.

"I'm sure that you two will work splendidly together."

But Clarabel could only see the view on both sides, Hannah's back obstructing her face.

"You will have to look out for me," said Clarabel.

"Of course I am," chipped in Hannah. "I am facing backwards, after all."

When the guard blew his whistle, he hopped into Clarabel and Thomas puffed off, slow at first before preparing to speed up for the long runs.

But Hannah didn't like going too slow.

"What a slow coach you are!" Hannah shouted to Thomas. "Surely you can go faster than this!"

"There isn't much track for me to go that fast," Thomas tried to reason. "And If I did, I could risk myself overshooting the platform and that would never do."

When they arrived at Dryaw, Thomas found Hannah a hard coach to please. She scoffed at the passengers like a highfaluting society empress who scorned and jeered, if not belittle those below her station.

"Passengers are a dreadful nuisance," she muttered. "They're worse than the army."

Clarabel's guard's whistle served as her cue to bump the bogie coaches from behind and push Thomas to his maximum speed as the driver, who was working the regulator, pushed it accidentally all the way. Both he and the firemen tried to regain control, but the force of Hannah's push was too strong. They had to keep trying in hopes of tiring the coach out with Annie and Clarabel's help. The passengers riding inside Hannah had an awful time, not at all expecting the rush of the rails that would have urged them to regurgitate in their own seats.

They reached a level crossing as the gates closed before Bertie the bus and his friend Algy, both on opposite sides, could make their move. Bertie saw Thomas rushing the gate at full speed.

"How about a race, Thomas?" he beeped.

But when Thomas passed the crossing without even noticing the two busses, Bertie was disappointed.

"Never mind, what about you Algy?"

The blue bus was more practical.

"No time, Bertie, I have a schedule to keep. Maybe some other time."

At Elsbridge, Caroline and the cricket team were waiting for Thomas to take them to a luncheon at the end of the line, hoping to see Christopher again. But when Thomas overshot the platform, the team apologized and told him they would take Caroline to Ffarquhar, even though the old car didn't like going fast. In fact, they were the last to arrive as Thomas came to a screeching halt at the station.

The passengers riding in Hannah got out and told her what an irresponsible coach she was.

"Just look what you have done to my makeup!" said a woman in a green floppy hat whose lipstick had been smeared by the bump. "Now I shall I have to go looking bare!"

Hannah couldn't have cared less. She did her job, but even Christopher and Diana knew that she was just about as troublesome as the trucks who did a lot of chaos for the North Western Railway. She behaved better for the return journey when Edward got to take Hannah at the back of his 5:00 train. But alas, she got bored all the way.

They came to the Cronk Viaduct, and by then, Edward was short of steam. A less-than-familiar voice came behind him on the next track.

" _Guten tag_ , Edward. Taking a slow stroll are we?"

Edward did not have much steam to answer.

"Your superiors will not have much use for you at that pace. Care to fancy a race?"

"Are you a poet?" asked Hannah, after noticing him.

"My driver had read me several books about poetry, but I consider that to be a coincidence. And if I were you, I would be travelling at a much faster pace than this old-fashioned museum piece."

"Museum piece?!"

That was all Hannah needed to get back the excitement she so desperately needed for the majority of the journey.

"I'll give you a ten second head start," Hugo told her.

And before he could make it to nine, Hannah bumped Edward all the way to the other side of the bridge, leaving Hugo at a loss for words. At the next station, he told the stationmaster about Hannah's recklessness and with the passenger's complaints about the bump, he telephoned the Fat Director.

By the passing of an hour, the Fat Director spoke to No. 8000, the War Department engine who bought Hannah and Bradford to the island.

"No. 8000, please report back to your superiors in Barrow for a refresher course in Bradford and Hannah's discipline. I shall write my views later."

And so it was arraigned. Later that evening as Edward brought Hannah and Bradford to the back of the goods shed, Thomas, tired from the fast excursion of the coach with the morals of a speedster, brought his own coaches back to the shed and went to sleep…but not for long once a curious Christopher tapped his buffers.

"What do you want?" Thomas yawned.

At first, upon seeing Christopher looking up at him, the hazy vision created by his slanted eyelids changed the boy into a young Wilbert Awdry; standing in the exact same position as the day he was created at Brighton Works all those years ago. But then his eyelids began to shift, changing his first friend back into his son, asking.

"Tell me more about my father."

Christopher's voice was sincere and factual if not desperate, as they had not said anything other than a few general details about Wilbert since the day Christopher came to Sodor. Thomas understood his interest, but with the sun disappearing entirely from view, bedtime was bedtime for both of them.

"There is so much I want to say about him," said Thomas in a quiet voice. "But I'm tired, we have a busy day ahead of us. Maybe we can talk some more about your father in the morning. Good night, Christopher."

"Goodnight, Thomas," answered Christopher as the tank engine went soothingly to sleep.

And when Thomas closed his eyes, he snored softly. Christopher took one look at the number "1" on the left side tank and walked slowly towards it. Mesmerized by the engine which took his father to this island almost one score and five years ago, he was careful not to wake him up as he smoothed his right hand at the base of the number. Thinking about his father and his desire to know more about what he did during his tenure on the island made Christopher sad and he rested his forehead against the number, unable to hold back the tears. He took one last sight at the number for an extra second and walked back into the house.

Removing his shirt and jacket as he made his way upstairs to Diana's bedroom, Christopher sat on the bed to remove his shoes and socks, not realizing Diana's presence until a sense of some sorts made him stop and look over his right shoulder just as he was removing his left shoe. She was sitting in front of her mirror, wearing a white silk brassiere and a matching skirt that was satin and covered the bottom half of her body all the way down to her ankles.

"I figured that since you tend to sleep without a shirt, maybe I should sleep in my undergarments."

"You don't have to," Christopher reasoned.

"Well," said Diana importantly. "I think it will make us even and if that doesn't satisfy you enough, my father told me from the Fat Director that Hugo is going to take you on a ride tomorrow morning."

Christopher now felt torn between the news and his intentions.

"But I wanted to talk to Thomas in the morning about my father."

"Maybe you can tell him on the way to Tidmouth. I'm sure you already know much about your father's life here as much as Thomas does. In fact, my father was the same driver that drove Thomas all the way here. Then of course, he met my mother and only about ten to sixteen years later they married and had me."

"Do you know much from your father?" Christopher's tone was hopeful.

"He says that war is something that should never be discussed, considering he came here during the last one."

The thought of war only dampened his forthcoming question to speak with Diana's father, but as she turned out the light, Christopher tried hard not to suffer from the pain of going through another dream like last night. Instead his thoughts turned to the excitement of riding in a rail-zeppelin for the very first time.


	9. Hugo's Day Out

_8:25 a.m., Friday, September 13_ _th_ _, 1940_

Hugo arrived at Tidmouth Station bright and early for the day of his inspection. Word had come to him through his driver that the Italians had actively invaded Egypt and the Luftwaffe were intending to practice, if not warn the English of Operation Sea Lion by using the industrial areas of Sodor as ground zero. Another concern he had to deal with were the inspectors who felt that his propeller would hack bystanders into pieces and that was when the Fat Director came with Christopher on the first platform. Christopher barely had time to speak with Thomas about what his father did when they first arrived on the island, but in the eyes of the Fat Director, it was a change of air for the sake of his own benefit.

"How are you, Hugo?"

"Never been better, _Herr_ Hatt."

"I was hoping that Christopher here would like a ride in you to Vicarstown and back."

"I've never been in a rail-zeppelin before," Christopher admitted. "Only in books."

Percy, who had been sorting the coaches for Henry's train on platform 3, watched them leave. He heard a long whine as Hugo started up his propeller and the rail-zeppelin took off like lightning down the main line.

"I hope he doesn't de-rail himself from all those high speeds," Percy thought to himself.

But Hugo was careful when coming towards bends, especially the one where James had his accident on the day he came to the railway. They passed Knapford before Thomas arrived, then Hugo came gently into Wellsworth, greeting the people who came to see him. They were extremely careful when going near his propeller as it slowed to a complete stop. He saw two tracks at a junction; one being the main line, the other Edward's branch line.

"I've never been down that line before. I wonder what it is like."

He tooted to the signalman to set the points, but he reckoned without Edward.

Edward had been to Brendam to pick up a train of tuna and anchovies, it had been three minutes since he left and had just arrived at Suddery to stop and take on water. He was about to leave when the most unthinkable happened: Hugo was heading in front of him at top speed.

The driver rushed into the cab and immediately put Edward in reverse while Hugo saw Edward for himself and applied his brakes, stopping just three inches away from striking his buffers.

Once Edward was back on his way again, the Fat Director expressed his disappointment in the rail-zeppelin. He had grown suspicious once Hugo took the wrong track, but the driver made his confession.

"Hugo simply has not seen the branch lines during the entire year he has been here, so he might as well take it as an opportunity to see for himself."

"He has a lot to understand about branch lines," said the Fat Director. "But as head of the railway, I still make the orders."

They continued on to Vicarstown as planned, but Christopher wasn't too excited about riding in a rail-zeppelin anymore, instead was feeling like he had failed at winning a coconut shy, got hurt on a playground, saw his scarecrow getting pecked to pieces by crows and had gotten off of a roller-coaster and thrown up. All of which related to sadness and misfortune because of the near-accident.

That night at Tidmouth Sheds, Edward told the other engines about the near-incident with Hugo and later, they discussed the situation, adding to a laundry list of possibilities for the rail-zeppelin to do their passenger work and if more of Hugo's kind came to the island, they would feel like really useless engines. Christopher was the first to ask, but he was afraid that he already knew the answer.

"What happens if you all get replaced by engines like Hugo?"

"Simple," said Henry. "Hugo's kind will take over the railway forever."

"And we become museum pieces," finished Gordon portentously.

"Or scrap iron," whimpered James. "And a color like that is definitely not a shade of red that I want."

"I enjoy working on the railway," Percy added. "It's the only thing I know how to do."

"He is very fast and modern," injected Eagle. "So I find it to be a very good possibility. Besides, he doesn't even look like an engine. Just a silver coach with an aeroplane prop."

"Maybe," said 98462 and 8746 together. "We just need to understand him more."

"If there are two flaws I can come up with Hugo, other than my belief that he is a spy," spoke Thomas in a voice that he hoped would not be met with further disbelief. "Is that he cannot pull trucks and that propeller of his is extremely dangerous."

Just then, Hugo came to the shed, trying to place a friendly façade above his ulterior exterior, but before he could say anything or take in the immediate realization that the shed was choc-a-block, Gordon glared at the rail zeppelin and bellowed.

"This shed is for steam engines only! Go away!"

"Fine," muttered Hugo. "I never liked you outdated machines anyway."

But he said it to himself.

Hugo backed sulkily away from the shed and all the engines went to sleep. So did Christopher who decided to sleep on the hammock, and as he removed his shirt, he took one last look at the moon, wishing there was something he could do to improve Hugo's views on his steam engine friends. But it would all seem like a lost cause, as the opposing forces from the whole of Europe were at work on their next target.


	10. Attack of the Luftwaffe

_6:00 a.m., Saturday, September 14th, 1940_

The aircraft carriers _Graf Zeppelin_ and _Flugzeugträger B_ were loaded with Messerschmitts, Fieselers and Junkers on a trek to bring it's first ever operation into full service. Their engines were stopped dead in the calm sea, a sky of unsettled overcast clouds perfect for a surprise attack. The squadron _Trägergruppe II/_ 186 commanded by Major Walter Hagen had been waiting for a day like this, as the German Navy's high hopes of putting Operation Sea Lion into action would begin by using an island as a practice run for the squadron, a practice run that they believed would give the British denizens who lived there a sign that would create a possible foreboding on the future day when the Nazis would conquer the United Kingdom and her isles. Strategic bombings had already done enough damage to London and the surrounding cities and for that reason, Major Hagen wanted to test it on an island with enough industrial ground to destroy.

His selection for Sodor came in the form of a telegram from his spy, Hugo's driver, with a detailed description of Tidmouth and the regiment base in Peel Godred to provide the buildings that were targeted for destruction. They were overviewed in the chart room with a map of Sodor obtained from a veteran cartographer whose perspiring forehead prevented him from concentrating on his works. That aside, the men compared the industrial areas of the map (coloured grey) with the descriptions mentioned by Hugo's driver. Presenting them to the pilots, they were well prepared to take off into the clouded sky and bring ruin to the island's economy, if not damage it.

"Concentrate on the industrial areas first, then drop the larger bombs on the regiment base," were their orders and with all being said and done, the planes took off into the safety of the clouds.

The sounds of the planes droning from above were not heard until much later when Percy, who was the first to wake up, was out shunting the coaches and trucks with Edward, ready for the big engines to wake up. Thomas was the second to leave for the branch line with Christopher, Annie and Clarabel in tow, waiting for Gordon to deliver his passengers at Knapford Junction. The longer he waited, the more impatient he became.

"What sound could that be?" Percy wondered as the planes grew closer.

Back at Tidmouth, Gordon was on the turntable. All of a sudden, as he was backing down to his coaches on platform 1, he noticed a single Bf 109 departing from a group of fives, flying over the glass roof and beyond. What came next was a loud wail that soared from the plane's fuselage towards the ground, creating an explosion from a factory nearby the harbour. Shocked at the sight of fire and smoke heading towards the station, the explosions grew louder as Gordon whistled frantically.

"RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!"

The other engines, who had already seen the destruction and were now facing the right direction, raced out of the yard after Gordon. Percy's fears were confirmed as he ran behind James who was following Henry, who was following Edward behind Gordon. Behind Percy were Eagle, 98462 and 87546, not knowing where to run other than as far away from the fires of destruction as quickly as they could down the main line. But almost before they were out in the open, the Bf 109 came back, it's pilot a crazed man with a love of bombing things and his target was Eagle.

As they rumbled through an overpass, 98462 went as fast as his wheels would let him. He couldn't help but enjoy seeing his incompetent tagalong lag behind him as he shouted "Oi! Wait for me! Wait for me!" before he went under the overpass. The two blue engines might not have seen eye to eye, but it did not mean that they wanted one of them destroyed, for the plane was now flying above them in a straight alignment.

Thomas was not too far from the fleeing engines when Christopher, waiting beside his cab, heard the explosions. They at first sounded like rumbles, the rumbles of an aftershock that increased in sound, warning them that the disaster was not too far ahead. Then the sounds died out to make way for the approaching engines running at top speed. Gordon, with the others in hot pursuit, whistled in fright. Then came an explosion…

Halfway to Knapford, the pilot fired a shower of bullets at the engines and hovered over Eagle. He fired five bullets onto Eagle's dome, then one went through his boiler and within eight seconds following, the pilot launched a bomb from the underbelly of his flying weapon. It flew into the cab and bounced into the furnace, where the heat of the flames caused it to explode and it raised the pressure so high that Eagle, his driver and his firemen were blown into fifty pieces, losing their lives in a fiery mass of destruction that left a crater in the track. It was too late for 98462 and 87546 to apply their brakes and while both drivers jumped clear, the firemen ended up bruising their shoulders upon failing to clear themselves from the two engines as 98462 landed in the crater and 87546 pushed into his tender, completely derailing his intelligent counterpart completely off to the left side of the line, his front end taking his place.

"You retarded fatface!" 98462 scolded. "Are your drivers blind?"

"Don't blame me!" 87546 tried to defend himself. "You should have seen the crater!"

"I could not stop in time!"

"Then next time someone blows up in front of us we should wait until the explosion stops to see if there is a crater."

"That is the most idiotic idea I ever heard!"

As the two engines argued, the other railway lines all over the island saw and heard the planes as well. On the Mid-Sodor line, Stuart and Falcon were in the mines of the hills, waiting with their trucks full of slate. They heard the explosion that was further down south of the line and when word reached the line like lightning, Duke ran into the mine whistling.

"Everyone into the shafts!"

And so they did along with the others.

Culdee was the first to see the Junkers bomber flying above Kirk Machan. The others saw it as well and he assumed the worst.

"If that plane is carrying a weapon of mass destruction like my driver told me about, we are doomed."

"Head for high ground!" Ernest whistled to the passengers.

They rushed into the coaches and one by one, the engines took off for Summit Hotel on the peak of the mountain at the end of the line.

Skarloey and Rheneas saw the destruction too. Several of the fighters were dropping bombs on the factories just before the Works and one even fell through the station roof.

"It's raining bombs!" cried Rheneas.

He sped over to the carriage shed where Agnes, Ruth, Lucy, Jemima and Beatrice were resting, only to have their sleep brought down to a halt when Rheneas dragged them out, rushed to the platform, collected as many passengers who were frightened enough to board and headed for the lake.

As for Hugo, being already aware of the planned attack, had slipped all the way out to Vicarstown the hour before the steam engines woke up. He was halfway to Maron when the first bomb was dropped, convincing him that as long as he remained in the countryside, he would be safe. The devious rail-zeppelin could only chuckle to himself at seeing the destruction from a distance, with only himself and his driver to provide an audience.

The bomber flew on to the regiment base, ready for deployment. The closer it got the more the pilot felt the anticipation and impatience to have his deed completed. The occupants of the base were just about up and ready for an exercise session when the sound of the bomber's engines drew their attention. They walked outside, just in time for to witness a large bomb fall from the fuselage and onto the main building. As they ran to get out of the blast radius, the bomb impacted with the complex and exploded, killing at least eight people who remained inside and critically injured those who did not escape the blast radius. Dust mixed with cinders and it flew throughout the base, covering a majority of the area in grey ash.

Unaware of the outcome of their fallen friend, the big engines racing past Knapford came upon the tunnel, which brought back some unnecessary memories of a rainy day that threatened to spoil his then-fresh paint to Henry. But his crew knew otherwise and they followed Gordon into the dark reaches of the tunnel, certain that the attackers would not be able to find him or the others in this cavern of darkness.

"Let's just hope we will not get bricked up for this," Henry said to James once he stopped behind him.

The noise of the bombs echoed for miles to come and after another three hours or so, they had ceased altogether. When word had gotten out to the German ships that Hitler had postponed Operation Sea Lion, the Germans brought their defenses to Antwerp where the RAF had been striking in retaliation for the Blitz. Little did they know how many days would pass, how many delays would come until the British would fight back to secure a full prevention of Germany from taking the British Empire.

When the track was repaired and the dust began to settle along with 87546 being brought back onto the rails, the engines found everything in confusion. Broken walls filled half the streets, trucks and coaches were derailed from impacts and dust filled the air, rounding the buildings in circles as they were picked up by the wind and the tiny specks flew out into the sea. Bodies were mutilated and half of their faces were stained with blood from scrapes of shrapnel and glass with splotches on their foreheads and elsewhere around the hands and faces. In reciprocation, the engines felt devastated.

Christopher got the worst of it, in fact, he was nearly traumatized by the sight of it and the bodies of workmen strewn across the track only reminded him of his grandparents' death, with cold blood oozing onto the rails. Thomas took him back to Ffarquhar, which was unaffected by the attack and by then, the Fat Director spoke to the members of the War Department concerning future arraignments involving the engines and extra security measures.

"They'll destroy our homes and our ecosystem too," the boy moaned to Diana from the safety of his new bed.

"The war will not last forever," was what she told him. "You will be home before you know and so will your father."

Hearing his name reminded Christopher of the only member he cared above everyone else in his family and as the day turned into night he was weeping to himself in his sleep.

"Dad..please come and find me."


	11. Engines in Mourning

_5:00 a.m., Sunday, September 15th, 1940_

As a new day rose upon the United Kingdom, with the fires of Germany's forces still burning in the streets of London, the Awdry family tried their best to ensure survival on the very day that would be known throughout history books as "Battle of Britain Day". Margaret worked as hard as she could to patch up the planes that Hitler had ordered to destroy. On the lawn of their new home in Oxenholme, Hilary and Veronica listened to the news of the approaching fighters via radio, watching condensation trails from a dogfight between German and British planes. Uncle George, while washing the dishes in the mess hall, watched the other soldiers eating their breakfast at a quick pace. Wilbert read _The Daily Telegraph_ in the same way he always did when he read it back at home, pacing or sitting down. He chose to sit and dabbled his eyes onto the details.

Together, the RAF stood tall and together they fought back in a large aerial battle that resulted in one such plane crashing directly into the roof of Victoria station. And while a general election was being held in Sweden, the engines on Sodor were being repainted into a nightly shade of black for the War Department had agreed to elicit war bonds that would help rebuild the towns and cities after the damage caused by the attack. The breakdown gang helped 98462 back onto the rails, but all that remained of Eagle was his tender, lying sprawled on its left side. He and 87546 were taken to the works, sparing the painters enough trouble to work on no more than six engines.

Being #1, it was fitting for the painters that Thomas should go first while Edward went second and third would be Henry, followed by Gordon, James and Percy. As he was nearing completion, Christopher, watching the procedure taking place from the hammock, gave his answer to the unsuspecting Thomas.

"I suppose they're painting you like this for night raids."

"Yes," Thomas sighed.

"But what about day raids?"

"They would not dare," Edward spoke from Thomas' left.

"You saw what happened yesterday," Henry bemoaned. "And now from what fireman tells me, there's a lot of these aeroplanes flying over the mainland, shooting at each other."

"A disgraceful display of bloodshed if you ask me," added Gordon. "A lot of our men from the regiment got hurt while trying to run from a bomb and here I am thinking they should have been trained better."

"Not to mention the loss of a brother," James said through tears at the thought of Eagle's destruction. "Now I'm the only red engine on the island."

"Not for long," said Percy doubtfully. "And besides, black is not just to prevent night raids, it can be used for other things, like mourning and espionage."

"And evil," murmured Thomas. "Or so how we see the color as. Coal is black, our funnels are black, even Christopher's hair is black. I even remember when James was black."

"And I am not going back to that stupid shade again," James whined under his breath.

"Would you rather be blown up like Eagle?" Christopher warned the soon-to-be-former-red-engine with crossed arms.

"No."

With that being said, James eventually changed his mind. Even the very mention of Eagle's name was enough to lower his spirits.

By the time Henry's paint was finished, he was selected by the Fat Director to take the bodies of the deceased from the regiment base to be buried at Tidmouth. The sad cargo of bodies were carefully encased in ice into a refrigeration van, which would last for more than the entire journey. In all the times that Henry felt sad, this was the most depressing. He was slow when he left on the return run and driver and fireman had seldom succeeded in pushing Henry to a more satisfying pace.

"This is nothing compared to what is going on outside the island," Henry said sadly to them.

Sad to lose a part of Sodor's fighting force, Henry arrived with his sad cargo of bodies at the goods platform of Tidmouth Station. First the bodies of higher ranks were catalogued into coffins while the lower ranks were wrapped in canvas bags and placed into coffins that looked cheap and rudimentary compared to the oak woodwork of the higher ranks, which looked rich and detailed with added flowers of lilacs and white roses.

The Fat Director held his own funeral for the humans while the engines paid their own respects with total silence and no eulogy, not even from Christopher who was all dressed in black for the event (using whatever he could find from his suitcase, of course). Even Hannah and Bradford were unusually silent for almost the entire day. When the wake followed, it was James' turn to be painted black and he was already complaining about the process as a painful experience, seeing his red paint be blackened by the livery he used to wear in his "younger" days on the Lancashire and Yorkshire Railway.

"This is an outrage! A disgusting humiliation to my heritage!"

"To the attack?" Thomas asked curiously.

"No! My paintwork!"

"How many times have we heard about you boasting on and on and on about your paintwork?" Gordon fumed. "You act like a spoiled child whenever you do so, and I don't mean you, Christopher. I think, that you, James, need to expand on your horizons instead of being viewed as the center of the universe."

But Christopher seemed to take Gordon's "spoiled child" remark with a sour face of grimness and he huffed off to the fence that overlooked the sea. Thomas moved closer to him, hoping to seek solace from the boy who had seen death.

"You have all been so nice to me, and yet with all this attack and everything, I don't know what to do next."

"You could make James learn how to be nice to others," suggested Thomas. "He's not as vain as he appears to be, he's just upset because Eagle died and all. Deep beneath that Belpaire firebox of his, he's a very courageous engine whose kind to his friends."

Then Christopher looked back to Thomas and gave his voice to a thought that had been in the back of his head since he came to the island.

"Don't you ever wish to be free and see the world, going to places like Paris, Vienna, Rome, Rio, Helsinki?"

"If the Fat Director wanted us to, but never you mind about that. The war could be taking shape among those specific cities."

Christopher looked out into the sea.

"So I have been told."

Thomas did no more and he left, thinking that Christopher would make his own way back to the shed without his help. The misty clouds brought uncertainty for the boy, since his eyes and ears could hear nothing but peace compared to the attack occurring yesterday, making the peaceful nature of the scenery before him impossible to imagine without hearing nothing but planes and bombs…and bullets. Clouds in London lasted a lot longer than what he saw from his perspective, and they seemed like the perfect smokescreen for an enemy attack.

Christopher was still staring at the sky, thinking about his family even after Percy had his turn to be painted black. As he continued to do so all the way until the edge of the afternoon, the other engines on the island were explaining their views on yesterday's attack to each other. Stuart and Falcon, cleaning up some rubble in the mines, did not feel as young as they used to, even though they still were, no thanks to a different kind of weight called emotion.

"We should spend more time here," encouraged Falcon. "I figured it would be safest place to be in case those bombers come back."

"I prefer the shed," said Stuart. "Granpuff's stories always manage to calm me down whenever there's a panic."

"On the contrary, I did not see any damage done here since we were all hiding in the shafts. They didn't even get Stanley or Smudger."

"At least none of men who work here were killed. Without them, we wouldn't be here."

"If you mean by the mines functioning properly, I would say yes. But without workers, there won't be a war with no railways and sweatshops to run it."

"If we went on strike but the Germans don't, it's clear they will lose."

Now Falcon was at an impasse.

"Maybe Granpuff has the answer."

But for the time being, it had to wait. They had a lot of work to do.

At Summit Station, Ernest was looking up at the sky, waiting for Culdee and Catherine to pull in before taking the down train back to Kirk Machan. When they did, Culdee asked.

"How long have you been staring?"

"Half an hour. I just wanted to make sure those enemy planes don't come back. We have had enough of this war coming to the island to last us a lifetime."

"We can't look up at the sky for a half-hour," reprimanded Culdee. "Time's time, and the manager relies on us to keep it. Besides, we have to think about our passengers."

"Perhaps when the war is over, you will not think about such things," added Catherine.

"I see your point," Ernest said and he rolled back down the line, leaving Catherine and Culdee to their thoughts alone. Now it was his turn to look for enemy planes until the guard's whistle blew.

At Crovan's Gate, Skarloey came back from his morning run with Agnes, Ruth, Lucy, Jemima and Beatrice, who were full of passengers who had attempted to escape from the bombers, though one such time bomb had dropped into a refreshment shop at Lakeside and exploded, with glass and dust flying into the water. Rheneas was already there, waiting for his turn to take the coaches.

"How have the passengers been coping since the attack?" he asked.

"The Refreshment Lady is very livid about the bomb dropping on her shop and Mrs. Last has complained about the enemy for having such gall to disrupt the peace of our island. To be precise, it was the noise that she hated the most."

"How unfortunate for the both of them. Could you not talk her out of it?"

"It's been hard," sighed Skarloey. "She has been serving tea and cakes without realizing that her food supply is in need of being rationed so that the army won't starve. If the Thin Controller does not take action, she might pursue the matter without mercy."

"You'll have to break the news to him," said Rheneas. "And make sure that he intends on apologizing to Mrs. Last. After all, she is one of our best clients, she has taken your train more times than I have."

"I know that," Skarloey replied vapidly.

Skarloey left the coaches at the station and went off to the slate quarry with seven trucks while Rheneas decided to break the news himself to the Thin Controller, about Mrs. Last and the Refreshment Lady.

"I will speak to the Refreshment Lady about her supplies immediately," he said.

"I would expect that you do more than just speak to her," added Rheneas. "I think you should tell her to ration her meals from now on. We don't need any of our men die of hunger on the front lines."

As the Thin Controller went to speak to the Refreshment Lady, Thomas took Christopher back to Ffarquhar. The boy had seen and heard enough of death to be integrated into his memory to last him a lifetime. But Christopher was not up for sleeping in Diana's room, he wanted to be closer to Thomas; so he set up the hammock in Thomas' shed all by himself and tried to sleep. Fitful and depressed, he tried to think about home, his real home, and the times of London and Birmingham before there was even a war for him to worry about. Then, remembering the bombs that took the lives of his grandparents, wondered how his father felt while he was away from home. With one tear leaking out of his right eye, Christopher turned over to the sleeping tank engine in the darkness and whispered.

"Thomas?"

Without so much as a yawn in his voice, Thomas replied.

"I'm here."

"I miss Dad."

"I know, but the war isn't going to last forever."

"Then how long will it last? What if I never see him again?"

"You will."

It was there that Christopher found the strength to go beyond his limits.

"I want you to take me to him."

"Do you even know where he is?"

Christopher searched his memory.

" _If you ever need me, I'll be in York,_ " were his father's words.

"At York," came his reply.

Thomas didn't take much notice, for he had fallen asleep, leaving Christopher to weep until morning.

At Crovan's Gate, where 98462 and 87546 were being repaired, Hugo came to them. With the attack having commenced, he was now planning to get rid of the steam engines, including the two blues once they had served their purpose.

"I see you like to bully your fellow engines," he told the two blues. "I think this attack is just the beginning to deject their spirits into self-pity and regret. Once they are broken beyond repair, we can dump them into the sea, make it look like an accident and their controller will have no choice but to replace them with new and improved diesel engines from my Fatherland."

"And if he doesn't?" asked 87546.

"The _Fuhrer_ will decide their fates once he has England in his pockets. In the meantime, we'll just have to destroy them all and run the controller over with our own wheels. His own fat will stain the tracks with blood."

Little did the unholy trinity knew, that Skarloey and Rheneas were also in the works for a check-up, having overheard the entire conversation.

"I think _he's_ the one that should be derailed," Rheneas whispered to his esteemed colleague.

Their drivers came at once and drove the two engines out of the shed as quickly as they could. But it was Hugo who heard their huffs and puffs and with Skarloey safely out of view, all he could see from his vantage point was Rheneas.

"They could have spied on us!" he shouted. "Throw him off."

There was nothing for 98462 and 87546 to move as their drivers had gone home to bed, so Hugo started up and charged at the little engine before stopping, unable to have caught up with him in time. All he could do now, was watch him disappear onto his own side of the tracks, so to speak.

"Did you really think you could catch him on your own tracks," asked 98462 teasingly.

"I should have known it would be fruitless from the beginning," huffed Hugo.

There would be no accidents tonight, but tomorrow was just another day.


	12. Aftermath

_6:00 a.m., Monday, September 16th, 1940_

Skarloey and Rheneas knew that the engines had to act quickly to spare themselves of humiliation and the soul-crushing vice of bullying…not to mention the fear of being scrapped, replaced by Hugo's own kind. In lighter news, the RAF had triumphed in one of the biggest air battles of the year, bringing down 175 Nazi planes with the much needed assistance of AA guns. This type of news would not bode well for Hugo and his driver. Skarloey told Edward who had come to visit them, while Rheneas took the slate train to the quarry. Edward, heading back to the sheds, told Percy, who went to the branch line.

Thomas and Christopher were listening to the news of President Roosevelt's Selective Training and Service Act when the little green engine told them about Hugo.

"You might as well get Christopher back to his family now incase Hugo decides to get rid of us."

"Me?" asked Thomas doubtfully. "I couldn't possibly take Christopher back without somebody to look after the branch line. Even if I am gone for an entire day."

"I could look after it for you," Percy suggested. "Even if it means that Gordon, Henry and James will have to shunt their own coaches along with No. 8000 until you get back."

"And if you get tired," added Thomas. "Bertie can help you with the passengers."

They went to see the Fat Director about Christopher's father, who was walking out of his office at Tidmouth Station after a conference meeting with the War Department.

"Sir," Thomas said formally. "I was wondering that if worse comes to worse. You should let me take Christopher back to his father on the mainland."

"That is hardly an important task," said the Fat Director sternly. "What about your branch line? What about your passengers? What about your goods? What about collecting the milk?"

"I know, sir. But Hugo is planning to get rid of us! I hear he's got 98462 and 87546 to do his bidding."

"Looking after your branch line is an important job, Thomas. Personal ones are the least of my concerns. Now if you will excuse me, I have some important tasks of my own. With Eagle permanently out of action and those two blue engines at the works, who can I get to take the gunpowder to Vicarstown?"

"Well, it was worth a try," said Christopher as soon as the Fat Director left.

Now they were both thinking that something had to be done, but none of them would find the answer until evening came.

Meanwhile, in response to the attack, the War Department sent out military conscriptions to almost every eligible man on the island, including the surviving members of the Sodor Regiment, to fight back against the Germans. Gordon was at Wellsworth with Edward when 98462 and 87546, now fully repaired came to them. 98462 showed Edward a long and heavy train of gunpowder.

"I'll bet you cannot pull ten trucks such as these!" teased 98462.

"And I can go faster than you!" taunted 87546 to Gordon.

The reply from both engines were: "We will see about that!"

Gordon started first and with him out of the way, Edward took the gunpowder train all the way to Vicarstown. Slow and heavy as it was, he climbed the hill and came rushing down at a pace he could not control until reaching Crovan's Gate, keeping himself from derailing until his driver regained control.

Then it was James and Henry's turn at Tidmouth Harbour. 87546 went to collect a train of rations from a cargo ship when he slowly skulked up to Henry and seethed.

"I hear your boiler is about to expire."

"So what if it does," said Henry unfazed. "It will be a long time before then."

When 98462 approached James, his reply was one of scorn.

"Eagle would be ashamed to see you all in black, you know how much the both of you were sensitive to your paintwork being tainted."

James would have produced tears, but they were tears of anger.

"It's what he would have wanted per War Department guidelines! I'll get my red paint back."

"Your red paint is now history, _old_ _black wheels._ "

All James could do was blow a cloud of white steam at the wicked blue engine, not knowing what had come into him. He took the smokescreen as an opportunity to disappear into thin air. 98462, thinking that he successfully done the job, collected a train of ices and headed off for the main line.

That night in the sheds, the engines were cross about 98462 and 87546's recently acquired behavior of bullying. Edward, exhausted from pulling the heavy gunpowder all the way to the end of the line, had little to say. Percy, having spent much of his time helping Thomas on the branch line was unaware of what had happened with the big engines until he returned.

"Did I miss anything besides not arraigning your trains?" he asked them.

"87546 told me he was faster than I!" hissed Gordon.

"Disrespected brother Eagle and called me old black wheels!" put in James.

"They say my boiler will expire!" moaned Henry.

"What got into them?" wondered Percy.

"How should we know?" said Gordon. "All they have been doing as of today was making fun of us."

"I blame it on Hugo," Percy added. "We haven't seen much of him since the attack. Maybe he isn't much of a defect as we had thought. I plan on telling the Fat Director about this."

"Who would he believe?" mused Henry. "An experimental German engine or a little green tank engine whose funnel is full of wild ideas?"

"Wait until tomorrow," yawned James. "Gordon has to take the troops to the mainland."

Back at Ffarquhar, Christopher was getting himself ready to sleep in Thomas' shed when he began to speak his thoughts out loud.

"The only way I can get to York, is by train. It is very far to walk after all."

He sat up.

"Thomas, everyone else says that you are a really useful engine. Could you take me back? I'll send the Fat Director a letter of absence if I have to."

"I'll try," said Thomas, trying to be brave. "But it might be dangerous jouncing over miles of open country. I could get lost."

"There's always a way," said Christopher and he went happily to sleep.

Thomas needed a good reason to leave the island. An idea flew into his funnel immediately, an idea that would require getting up very early in the morning.


	13. Journey to the Mainland

_7:00 a.m., Tuesday, September 17th, 1940_

That morning, Gordon went to Knapford Junction to pick up the soldiers from Thomas' branch line. He waited five minutes for Thomas and before he could lose his patience, Edward came along with a goods train. The kindly engine stopped alongside him, curious and willing to mollify his pride and boast of a personality.

"How long have you been waiting?"

"Five minutes, no doubt. Have you seen Thomas anywhere?"

"If I knew any better," said Edward slyly. "I'd say he took your passengers to the mainland himself."

Gordon was speechless.

As Thomas raced down the main line with Christopher and Diana (who wanted to see him off) in his cab, the soldiers riding in Annie and Clarabel, among them Mr. Kyndley, were surprised but somewhat satisfied to be heading off to the mainland on a different train. It might not have been an express service as they preferred, but it was a good sign of the harsh conditions they were ready to expect on the battlefield. Diana, who was a real trouper like her parents, grabbed the coal spade from the fireman and shoveled coal into the boiler.

"Why did I mix myself up in this?" she wondered out loud.

"I was the one who invited you," corrected Christopher. "And besides, you wanted to see me off if this meant goodbye."

"We'll do it when we get there!" shouted Diana. "Right now, help my father!"

They raced straight through Edward's station and Thomas was going so fast he went right up Gordon's Hill without slowing down. Rumbling through Maron Station, over the viaduct, passing the junction to the Peel Godred Branch Line and making their way through Crovan's Gate, he pounded the rails with every ounce of steam that he had. There, Hugo spotted them.

"The first to go," he said quietly, "will be none other than the island's number one."

With a roar, he rushed at Thomas, Annie and Clarabel, his propeller blowing a gale of leaves onto the track. The "buzz" from the approaching wake of his propeller reached Christopher's ears. He looked out of the cab and his jaw nearly dropped once he saw Hugo speeding after them.

"Hurry, Thomas!" he shouted.

The driver produced more steam.

"Be careful!" Diana added encouragingly.

They rattled through Norramby, reaching the junction to the branch line. A signalman, believing that Thomas was in trouble, set the points to route Hugo onto the branch line, buying them more time. The familiar sights that Christopher saw the very first time he came to Sodor passed him by, a curve that forced Diana to the doors of the cab, nearly causing her to fall out, the approach of Henry's tunnel up ahead, the tall trees and fields of grass… and Hugo right behind them, his face and momentum at the sharp pace of a torpedo.

"Such bad timing," muttered Thomas he whooshed through the tunnel.

Thomas raced past the yards and the station that brought him back to the past, where he began life on Sodor as a station pilot, but he pushed it out of his head as he approached the Vicarstown Bridge. When the bridge acknowledged Thomas, it began to lower from its current angle. Thomas bravely crossed the bridge once it had completely lowered and it rose back up again. Christopher and Diana cheered for joy, they were on their way to see his father again.

But as Hugo closed in, he and his driver were smug and confident that he could jump over the rising bridge and as he climbed the steep bascule, he felt his wheels going off the rails, having long to do this very moment from the day he was built.

" _I CAN FLLLLYYYYYYYYYYY!_ " screamed Hugo.

But Hugo was not the type of engine built for flying, and whatever comes up, has to go down and Hugo dropped into the ocean, face first. Water quickly spilled into his interior and his driver had no chance of escaping as they sank all the way to the bottom of the Irish Sea, never to be seen again.

Later that day, 98462 and 87546 were waiting at the works.

"I wonder where Hugo is," 87546 wondered to his associate. "He should have given us more to do."

"You mean like more intelligent insults?" asked 98462. "I didn't think those insults we gave them yesterday were smart enough."

"You never do think and they never were smart enough," came the stern voice of the Fat Director. "You can start thinking about how to spend the rest of your lives helping the war effort back on the mainland. That'll teach you to bully engines on my island!"

98462 and 87546 did start thinking…about Hugo. They both wondered if he had been intending to turncoat them from the beginning. If so, they were willing to give Hugo a piece of their mind, but of course, that chance never came.

After seeing the naughty blue duo off, the engines went back to the sheds thinking about Thomas. Where was he now?


	14. A Brief Reunion

Thomas, Annie and Clarabel never stopped until they came to the station of Barrow-in-Furness where they first met Christopher. The soldiers all said "thank you" and took their leave into the waiting train on the next track. Christopher and Diana stepped out of Thomas' cab, taking in that air of déjà vu from one week ago. Everything seemed the same, with a heavy cloud cover above the skies, leaving Thomas' former paintwork as mostly the only shade of blue from his field of vision.

"Did you know that I first met Thomas here?" asked Christopher.

"No," said Diana matter-of-factly. "But I imagine so."

"Now's not the time for any reminiscing," reminded Thomas. "If we're going to look for your father, we might as well do it now."

The children climbed onto Annie's empty first compartment and Thomas started off. The track in front of him looked easy, considering it was a simple straight route, the same route he and Edward used when they came to Sodor the very first time 25 years ago. They reached the station of Dalton where a river was just ahead, along with a viaduct to cross over it. The Leven viaduct was narrow and made Thomas uncomfortable over the thought of falling into the river, but they arrived safely at Cart and Cartmell Station to take on water while the driver observed a map that was posted inside the building, they had a long way to go. As they passed the seaside vista of Grange-Over-Sands, with Thomas whistling to the boats and yachts in the water, Christopher was looking out of Annie's window at the changing scenery that he had missed on his way to Sodor when he left London. Diana sat opposite to him, looking out at the world away from her home. She turned to Christopher and said.

"So we're going to find your father, huh?"

Christopher continued his fixed position. After five seconds, Diana spoke again.

"Why not wait until the war ended? Or do you not care about that anymore."

The boy faced her.

"I do care, but what difference does it make? Dad said the only the place in the army for me was a messenger boy's post. And if I can't make him come home, then will this entire journey be for nothing?"

"Well, at least I'm getting a chance to see the world. I have lived on Sodor my whole life and I have never even seen it."

Diana's feelings turned solemn when she asked.

"What if you do convince your father to come home with you? Will this mean goodbye for the both of us?"

"I'll still come and visit you and Thomas," Christopher faltered.

"It's something else," Diana asked impulsively. "Do you love me or not?"

Christopher tried to think, this was the first time he had ever heard a girl around his age asking him if she loved him.

"Maybe."

"Is that a yes or a no?"

"My answer is yes. You have comforted me when I needed it the most and you have stayed at my side for most of my visit."

Diana, smiling, leaned closer to Christopher.

"Then I have a special way of thanking you," she whispered.

In one moment, she gave him a quick kiss on the lips. Christopher felt a little happier after that, maybe kissing a girl wasn't as unpleasant as all the other boys back in his school thought it was.

Thomas ploughed on through the day, passing Carnforth, Skipton, Keighley, Leeds…all the while with Annie and Clarabel singing cheerfully along the way as they passed other trains, cars and children who waved at them. After about five hours at the most they finally arrived in York Station at around 3:30 p.m. in the afternoon.

"We should be close to Strensall Barracks," said Christopher with hope in his voice.

"And when we see your father, you have to introduce me to him," added Diana.

"I think I'll go alone," uttered Christopher with a tease. "They probably don't bring, well, _younger_ girls into the military."

Diana understood this.

The driver asked the stationmaster for directions and fortunately, the barracks were not too far away. Even though the line was close to the barracks, it could not be accessible by rail, so when they reached a vantage point where the barracks could be seen from a distance, Christopher had to walk. All he had to do was go down the hill, walk over the River Foss, and onto Strensall Road and there he would find the main entrance to the barracks. A man was standing, then marching back and forth when he got there. The man's back was turned to Christopher when he asked.

"Excuse me? Do you know where I can find a man named Wilbert Awd—Uncle George?"

The name turned, revealing the face of his uncle, who looked more surprised than happy.

"Christopher, I thought you'd be with the Dalbys. Did you run away?"

"Sort of. I just wanted to see you and Dad before you had a chance to leave again. I know it's important to stay where you need to be, but I still want you to come home, even if it seems like an impossible task for me."

"The impossibility of that task is correct. But you are in luck, dear nephew, Wilbert and I will be leaving overseas very soon."

"Already?" Christopher could not imagine leaving for the battlefield after a week of training.

"That's right," said his uncle. "Hitler's postponed his invasion plans indefinitely and we're going to help the RAF in Benghazi. I read it in the news. Then later on, or so I'm told, we're going back to Dunkirk to bomb the invasion barges."

"You mean you and Dad are going to fly in plane?"

"Well, he and I are going to man the anti-aircraft guns. They say the controls of a plane are too complex for us, seeing how you, me and him are all into trains and whatnot."

"And your post is supposed to be guard duty?" asked Christopher boldly, putting his hands on his hips as he did.

"Indeed it is," his uncle saluted. "And as per regulations I cannot let you in unless if you wish to join."

"Don't bother," Christopher sighed. "I'm not old enough, anyway."

Then the two of them heard marching and a lorry was driving up to the gate in the opposite direction, nearly catching Christopher off-guard. It was now apparent that the time to leave had come.

"That should be him," Uncle George said to Christopher.

The uniformed men marched to the beat of their own soles, and there were no less then twenty-five to thirty of them moving closer and closer to the anxious child and the guard who tried to look professional. They were known as the King's Own Yorkshire Light Infantry given their location and reputation. The general leading the men got onto the rear of the lorry first, followed by the men, Christopher kept his eyes sharp until he saw…

"Dad!"

Recognizing Wilbert, Christopher ran into his arms, startling his father who looked down at him. His face was just about as surprised as Uncle George's.

"Christopher…" he startled. "I don't know what to say other than why you're not with Hilary and Veronica."

"I couldn't find you when you left me at the station, so I got on another train." said Christopher as fast as he could so as not to test the army's patience. "Then I met Thomas, he's this tank engine, he took me to Sodor where there's talking trains and they said you might have been there. But the Nazis bombed it and with me missing you and everything and…I just wanted you to come home."

"Don't we all!" agreed one of the soldiers.

"I wish I could, son," Wilbert's full uniform spoke for itself. "But you know how bad this war is."

It was at that moment that Christopher had realized that arguing would not solve anything. His arms left his father's embrace and he took a step back.

"Then I came all this way to say one last goodbye," he said, his voice verging on the vapid. "But can I at least show you Thomas, the tank engine who brought me here? He talks, by the way."

Wilbert chuckled.

"I think you've been outdoors too long trying to find me."

"No," Christopher shook his head. "I will prove it to you."

Giving in almost immediately to his son's beliefs, Wilbert turned to his commanding officer and said.

"It won't be a moment longer."

They climbed back up the hill and through the river where Thomas was waiting. As they walked, Wilbert asked Christopher.

"Are you even sure he talks? Because I find that idea to be very…childish."

Sure enough, there was Thomas, all in black with the colors of his number muted and his shape loomed against the afternoon sky with the windows of his coaches shining light through the compartments. This engine looked very familiar to Wilbert, one that he had not seen since he was five years old. The bells of his memory began to ring and it all seemed to come back to him when he noticed the face that said back to him.

"Hullo, Wilbert."

Wilbert tried to smile as he lifted his right hand. The face was indeed familiar and when the bells of his memory began to intensify, everything that had slipped from the first ten years of his life had been restored. Waving before acknowledging his childhood friend, Wilbert faltered.

"Hullo again, Thomas. You look almost the same as when I left you 25 years ago."

"Same to you," Thomas replied. "I could never forget your face. Everything that I remember from that five year old boy is still there, the eyes, the hair, even your cheeks."

"My cheeks have thinned," Wilbert chuckled.

Then his face went to Christopher.

"I see you have met my son," he added. "How was he?"

"Almost the same as you when you came to live on Sodor with me for a short time."

Wilbert looked back at the lorry at the bottom of the hill.

"I should be going now. I don't want to keep them waiting too long."

"I'll tell you the whole story when's it's all over, right?" asked Christopher.

"I will listen to your every word."

In one long moment, the father and son gave a salute and said "goodbye" in unison. Christopher did not stop gazing until his father was far, far away from his view. A minute after, an impatient Diana walked out of the compartment and looked around. She had been asleep the whole time out of boredom and wanted to see Christopher's father. But it seemed that he was nowhere in sight, she asked.

"So what now? Do we go back?"

Christopher turned to her over his left shoulder and said.

"Yes, it's time I did something besides cry."

The children climbed back into Annie's compartment and without a second thought, Thomas puffed backwards to the station and went to find the nearest turntable to pull his coaches head on. After that was accomplished, he started back home. The children slept all the way to Barrow for it was nearly sunset when they crossed the Vicarstown Bridge. Tired, but triumphant, Thomas went all the way back to Tidmouth Sheds, where the five other engines had just about returned from a long day of worrying. They were both surprised and slightly agitated to see him back on the island.

"I was afraid you were lost," said Henry.

"Most of us were," confessed Edward.

"Where exactly were you?" asked Gordon indignantly.

And as soon as the Fat Director came to ask the same question, Thomas told him and the other engines the whole story right to the very end. When Christopher and Diana woke up, the Fat Director promised him a new home that would be officially his until the war had ended for good, just as it had been planned originally when he first came to Sodor. And that home of course, would be Diana's house.

When they returned to Ffarquhar, Thomas could finally rest his wheels after that long and courageous adventure. Before going to bed, Christopher looked out of the window to the beautiful night sky and whispered to the silent wind:

"Goodnight, Dad. Goodnight, Thomas."


	15. Christopher's Christmas Party

_11:59 a.m., Tuesday, December 24_ _th_ _, 1940_

The months passed, Christopher decided that as long as he was going to be on the island, he would use his time more productively, which meant that it was time for him to grow-up, but not entirely all the way. He changed his mailing address for the time being, read nothing but engineering manuals, went to school in Ffarquhar with Diana and spent his spare time learning how to fix the engines. He had little time for being a lonely child anymore, or just a child in general, as though all of his pain and sadness had disappeared from seeing his father again. With Hugo and Eagle dead and the naughty blue duo having been sent away, he decided that then and there would be a good opportunity to help out the other engines. Little did he or anyone else know how many years would go by before the war had officially ended, and how many battles would be fought before he would be with his family again. Wherever Wilbert and Uncle George went to on their travels, Christopher would save some time off school and work to catch up on the KOYLI's current whereabouts via Gordon's driver, who was a ham radio operator with friends in the War Office and abroad: Scotland, Norway, Italy, Palestine, Cape Spartivento, among other places that the Axis powers were intending to subjugate.

Then, Christopher received a letter from his classmates. They had been travelling to Canada aboard the Ellerman liner _City of Benares_ as part of the Children's Overseas Reception Board. When the ship sank from being torpedoed by the submarine, _U-48,_ the British Navy took some control of the incident before word reached Christopher. In return, Christopher invited his schoolmates to stay on Sodor. The Fat Director handled the travelling arraignments from Greenock to Vicarstown, where the children stayed along with other evacuees. With Gordon's help, he used the Express to transport other children who were shipwrecked or bombed. Others came from the mainland by train as the bombings continued throughout the year.

The holidays had suddenly become the least of his concerns. Halloween and Bonfire Night went by without him noticing, St. Andrew's Day dinner with Diana's family was pleasant…but the one thing he was not looking forward to was Christmas, a time when children shared their gifts and feelings to their families.

"It'll be my first Christmas without Dad," he told Thomas. "Worst of all it's almost here."

For the winter season, Christopher picked a navy-blue sweater with black trousers, boots and a black beret with a red fuzzy ball on top. Thomas was flattered by seeing the boy respecting his paintwork, but he had to find a way to lift the boy's festive spirit.

He was passing Mrs. Kyndley's cottage when he made his plan to Annie and Clarabel and when work was over, he told the other engines.

"I think we should give Christopher a special Christmas party."

"A party would be fun," said Gordon. "It would be a good way to thank the boy properly after all the times he's earned his stay by helping our crewmen."

"And he's smart enough to look after himself since you came back," James said to Thomas. "To Christopher, we have been like a family and if he can't go home to his real family until the war is over, we are not going to stop Christmas just because of that. We'll be his family for the next five Christmases, maybe even longer!"

The Fat Director agreed with the idea as no trains would be running on Christmas or Boxing Day. He arraigned a special set of decorations to be delivered to Tidmouth Sheds and the workmen helped to hang streamers and lights along the roof and the exterior walls. Percy was even given the task of taking a Christmas tree from the harbor to the shed, where it was placed next to him. The engines were looking forward to the party and Annie and Clarabel were joining Hannah and the other coaches in the carriage shed when silence fell.

Christopher was nowhere to be seen.

"I was expecting him to come over by himself, or least someone to take him here," said Thomas.

"That indeed," came the voice of the Fat Director who walked in. "Someone will have to go and fetch Christopher from Ffarquhar. Perhaps you, Thomas. There's no party unless you do."

"I'll try, sir," he said bravely.

"There's a good engine. Off you go now."

Thomas collected Annie and Clarabel, and he was fitted with his snowplough as heavy snowfalls had covered the tracks by the cutting near Mrs. Kyndley's cottage. He charged the snowdrifts fiercely and hurried as fast as his driver could let him all the way to Ffarquhar.

At the same time, Christopher was with Diana at the driver's house. The wife had gone out to buy a turkey and some other meals for Christmas dinner. The boy was still glum as he gazed out of the window, and even though he was encouraged by Diana to make snow angels or snowmen with her, he did not want any part of it.

"Mum, Dad, my sisters and I would make the best snowmen better than anyone on the block."

Try as she might to convince him to make his own snowman, Christopher had nothing to do but stare at the snow falling from the dark clouds.

Presently, Thomas arrived. His whistle alerted Christopher and he and Diana hurried over to the station just as Diana's mother was coming home from the store. She left the turkey on the table and followed them to the platform. There, a group of carolers were boarding Clarabel and the last one had just made it onboard when Christopher ran up to Thomas and asked out of the blue.

"What have you been doing all day?"

"What else?" the tank engine chuckled. "But for the time being I'd be honored to take you and Diana to Tidmouth. Before you ask, it is a surprise."

Christopher and Diana climbed aboard Annie and Mrs. Driver made it just in time to enter the compartment behind them. Off they went into the snow that fell silently.

It was sunset by the time they reached Tidmouth. Thomas' shape silhouetted the orange sky as he approached the shed in dead silence and stopped just eight feet before the entrance. There were no signs of life, engine or human, anywhere. All was calm and all was still.

"Where is everybody?" Christopher asked once he got out.

He was immediately answered by a loud "SURPRISE!" from the other engines, hooting and whistling as all the lights came on, awaiting a marvelous sight that lay before the boy and the girl. The lamp irons with fitted with gold stars and wreaths hung from their funnels. Colored lights were hung inside and out, bringing the holiday spirit to everyone who came inside the warm glow of the shed.

Sir Topham and Lady Hatt helped Diana and Mrs. Driver down from Annie and the crew inside clapped in response. Christopher walked over to the big engines, starting with Gordon.

"We are honored to be your family, Christopher," said Henry.

"No matter where you go or what you do," added Edward. "You will always have a special place in our boilers."

After thanking James and Percy, Christopher stood in front of the shed and addressed the engines.

"You are all friends, and Thomas, you're my friend too. Even you Diana."

The girl blushed and went to join the festivities.

There was a table of refreshments close to Percy's side of the shed: hot coca, marshmallows, mint pies, eggnog, candy canes, gumdrops, jelly babies, Turkish delight, Curtiss candies, Fizzers, Bubblo milk chocolate bars by Nestlé and Choward's Violet Mints. The Christmas tree was loaded in place with a few presents and a toy train set lying underneath it. A group of carolers sang all of their favorite tunes until their voices grew sore, including "We Wish You a Merry Christmas". Then they pulled crackers and played games, all the while having a perfectly splendid time until the party ended at 10:00.

The Fat Director stood on a crate.

"Ladies, gentlemen, children and engines. We are here to honor a great boy, who has so far, done a great service to our railway and will do many more as soon as he comes of age. We all hope, Christopher, that you will accept this great present from your father during the Battle of Dunkirk six months ago."

He handed Christopher a red box that was as large as his arms and the boy opened it. It was a train set from Meccano, featuring a red LMS passenger train with an engine that looked almost like Henry.

"Thank you, sir."

The Fat Director bowed.

"May you have good health and a long life to enjoy it."

Cheers followed, strains of "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow" were ringing throughout the shed as Christopher, Diana and Mrs. Driver climbed into Thomas' cab for the ride home. Thomas thought that this was the best Christmas ever, and Christopher for the time being, could think of no place he would rather be than here with them on the Island of Sodor.


	16. Gordon and the Tanks

_5:45 a.m., Sunday, February 9_ _th_ _, 1941_

In the first two months of a new year on Sodor, Christopher was working very hard to ensure that the engines were in tip-top working order. On this day, he was checking Gordon's undercarriage for any loose mechanics, especially the screws on his traction rods. He checked his wheels twice, then looked over to the wheels on his tender, making certain that they were in perfect condition as well.

"Are they completely clean?" asked Gordon.

"They are," said Christopher after checking both sides. "At least you won't have to wear treads like they do on tanks."

"You mean those cannons on wheels? I know Terence the tractor has those."

"Yes, he does. Speaking of tanks, we might get to see one should a battle come to this island."

"Nonsense," spluttered Gordon. "The Germans have done enough damage already and my driver's ham radio friends say that their railways have branch line engines who pull main line trains. I think it is unfair, unjust and improper."

"In times of war," Christopher added. "we have to be improper. And who knows? With the extra supplies needed for the British armies, you may need to pull more trucks than coaches if we are ever going to get anywhere in this predicament."

But Gordon snorted.

"I, pull trucks? Indeed not! I am a passenger engine! And passenger engines don't pull trucks, it would not be dignified."

"Dignified?" Christopher tried not to laugh.

"Dignified," Gordon huffed pompously. "means distinguished or worthy of respect and I am worthy of respecting my passengers. You see what I mean, young Christopher?"

"Yes," replied Christopher, standing up from his spot. "But personally, I think you're getting too big for your buffers."

Without another word, he left the shed.

Later that day, Winston Churchill made a worldwide announcement.

"Put your confidence in us. Give us your faith and your blessing, and under Providence all will be well. We shall not fail or falter; we shall not weaken or tire. Neither the sudden shock of battle nor the long-drawn trials of vigilance and exertion will wear us down. Give us the tools and we will finish the job."

The Americans were willing to help in their recent advance and soon the docks on Sodor were packed with a smorgasbord of ammunition, plane parts, firearms, shells…even tanks.

The Fat Director came to Tidmouth Sheds in a great hurry, determined to supply the Allies with his own goods.

"Henry, you will take the ammunition while James takes the explosives. Thomas and Percy, you will get the trucks ready."

"Yes, sir," they whistled.

Then the Fat Director turned to Christopher waiting by Gordon. He walked over to his superior and asked curiously.

"Anything for Gordon, sir?"

"He will take the tanks to Barrow."

Gordon could not believe what he had heard and tried to reason with his superior.

"You might disregard me for saying this, sir, but express engines do not pull trucks, it isn't dignified."

"Nevertheless," The Fat Director crossed his arms. "We are at war, and you are still the fastest and the strongest engine on my railway no matter what loads you pull."

Christopher hopped onto Gordon's cab as the big blue engine puffed away with a defeatist sigh.

Even though Gordon was not happy to be pulling trucks, he tried to be patient as Thomas and Percy pushed a trio of low loaders onto his tender, each one carrying a single tank.

"Isn't that just coincidental," Christopher said, looking from the cab. "We were just talking about tanks earlier this morning and now you get to pull three."

"And if I must pull trucks," Gordon muttered unhappily. "Then I'll show you and everyone else how an express engine pulls trucks."

"I'd be careful if I were you," his driver warned. "These tanks are heavy."

In spite of this, he pushed Gordon up to full speed and Christopher went to ride in the brake van. This way, he could help the guard in case Gordon got "too big for his buffers."

They sped into the afternoon through Knapford, Crosby and Wellsworth. Gordon, racing along the countryside with his heavy load, thought about the soldiers who needed their supplies.

"Maybe pulling trucks is not so bad after all," he smiled before it faded. "I cannot believe I actually said that."

He came to the hill where he had once gotten stuck while pulling a goods train almost twenty years ago and charged it, hoping to avoid a repetition of the incident. The tanks began to weigh him down, but he reached the top…but it was there that the weight of the tanks began to push him down towards Maron.

"Help!" Gordon screamed as he reached a curve.

He nearly flew off the tracks, but the tank in the middle broke free and lopsided at the very moment Christopher applied the hand brake. Gordon felt embarrassed.

"What will the Americans say once I have given them a broken tank?"

He found out soon enough once he reached Barrow. The breakdown gang had brought the tank back onto the loader and Gordon, respecting his driver's wishes, had to go no faster than fifty miles an hour. The general inspected the damage around the tank's cannon, which had a dent in the middle.

"I am sure this can be easily repaired," the general said to Gordon. "But it will cost us an extra amount of money."

"And when this war is over," Gordon said to himself as he let out a wheesh of steam. "I am never going to take these heavy things…or trucks ever again."

A month later, as spring was coming into bloom, Gordon was back to pulling coaches again. He met Thomas at Knapford Junction, who told him about the British raid on the Loften Islands.

"I hope they've got enough tanks to blast them up," said the tank engine with a cheeky grin.

Gordon did not take this as an insult, but he was proud for his act of service.

"Well, if you ask me," Gordon chuckled. "I think those Nazis are too big for their buffers."

And he let out a jolly toot as he continued to the next station, proud and happy just as he was before. Maybe trucks were just about as important as coaches after all.


	17. Fearless Freddie

_8:30 a.m., Sunday, June 1_ _st_ _, 1941_

Christopher had already known the Fat Director's engines, but it wasn't long before he made friends with Skarloey, Rheneas, Culdee, Catherine, Ernest, Wilfred, Shaine Dooiney and the Mid-Sodor Railway engines. On the very day the Balkan Campaign ended with the Axis Powers forming a triple occupation of Greece, Yugoslavia and Albania, the Ffestiniog Railway sent one of Duke's old friends, Freddie, known as Fearless Freddie by his peers, to help the engines with the increasing supply of minerals needed for the war effort.

True to the first letter of his name, Freddie was fast, fun, fearless and fortunate to support the war effort. Thomas brought him to Arlesdale on a flatbed with Christopher riding in his cab.

"Hello, Freddie," whistled Duke. "I haven't seen you since my last visit to Ffestiniog. How is Bertram by the way?"

"They should be sending him over soon," puffed Freddie. "But in the meantime, I would like to see where we will be working."

Before the workmen could have a chance to set him on the rails, Stuart and Falcon came racing into the yard.

"I win!" called Stuart.

"No! I am!" Falcon wheeshed angrily.

"Who are you?" asked Freddie upon seeing the two young engines.

"We're the fastest engines in the hills!" they boasted.

"Their names are Stuart and Falcon," corrected Duke. "And they are nothing but a bunch of impudent scallywags."

"I can easily race them into the hills," assured Freddie.

Stuart and Falcon found the idea to be a good one, but their drivers seemed against it.

Christopher came to the platform after Thomas left for Tidmouth and asked the silver engine.

"Is it true that you can go that fast?"

"Just watch me, child, I can race them from this yard and back again."

Christopher was allowed entry into Freddie's cab by the driver and in no time at all, they were off to the mines. But Stuart and Falcon wanted a race.

"Last one to the mines gets shipped off to the Soviets," Falcon said.

"I thought we were against them," replied a confused Stuart.

"Never mind," wheeshed Freddie. "The first one who gets there has to do Duke's task of watching out for you two."

"Well then…Ready? Steady…Go!" whistled Stuart. And he shot off like a jackrabbit.

Holding on to the sides of his cab, Christopher felt the wind blow his hair wildly as Freddie raced along with Stuart in second and Falcon in third. Duke watched them go and went to fetch coaches for his special train the "Picnic".

Freddie was nearly out of puff when he reached the mine, but he made it to the first set of trucks before Stuart and Falcon caught up with him. It was there that he introduced himself to Jim, Tim and Jerry.

"We'll have these trucks sorted out in no time," he told Christopher.

When work was over, Stuart called out.

"I demand another race! This time back to the shed."

"That means we'll have to go backwards," said Freddie. "Christopher, you will have to watch out for me."

They started again, but not before taking their positions. Falcon thought it unfair for Freddie to go first before he did, but rules were rules. As they puffed along, Christopher, whom Freddie's driver let control the engine, asked Freddie.

"How does it feel to be the fastest?"

"Great!" said Freddie. "I'm starting to know this railway like the back of my buffers."

Stuart and Falcon tried to keep up, determined to win the race by bumping into Freddie's rear buffers. Faster and faster they went, down the line, approaching the stations up ahead. They nearly fell off the rails at the curves and corners that passed them by and the drivers, who were now fit to understand better, slowed the engines to a limited speed.

"We're going to lose!" Falcon grumbled to his driver.

"Don't get too cocky," he reminded him. "You could go off the rails if this competition keeps up."

And he slowed the engine down as Stuart's driver did the same.

They met Freddie at the sheds. He was beaming victoriously.

"Enjoyed the race?" asked Christopher, walking out of the cab with crossed arms and a sly smile.

"No," sighed Stuart. "Racing's no fun when you have to slow down due to difficult bends."

"Meaning…?"

"That our drivers," muttered Falcon. "Made sure that we did not try racing at dangerous speeds."

"Then I win," said Freddie proudly.

Yet the manager was looking forward to seeing the new engine.

"I understand that you, Stuart and Falcon had done a decent job at the mines."

"I know, sir," added Freddie. "Yet these two tricked me into a race."

"All three of you should know better than to race on such dangerous lines," the manager's tone went strict. "I don't think I could bear losing another engine, especially some who couldn't make themselves useful."

Thomas arrived at the end of the day to pick up Christopher. On the way back to Ffarquhar, he told the blue tank engine all about the race.

"If there's a lesson to be learned here, is that you cannot race a dangerous speeds."

"Well," said Thomas. "After my race with Bertie, the lesson I got was that safety always comes first before competition."

And with that, the two friends, having both learned a great deal about racing from two separate events went to sleep, thinking of nothing but racing as a less violent alternative to war.


	18. A Thanksgiving on Sodor

_10:25 a.m., Wednesday, November 26_ _th_ _, 1941_

President Franklin Delano Roosevelt of the United States had signed a bill of law declaring that every last Thursday of November was to be the official day of Thanksgiving, a holiday where Americans celebrated the blessings of a munificent harvest held by the pilgrims and the Native Americans for a three-day festival.

Some American expats, tourists and immigrants who came to Sodor were looking forward to Thanksgiving, even celebrating it with their British relatives. Other Brits from all over the United Kingdom who held some respect for holiday were celebrating it as well. Most who preferred to be traditional, decided to skip the "Turkey Day" all together and went on to resume their normal lives.

On that morning, Thomas met Christopher at Ffarquhar Station. Annie was filled with American tourists, while Clarabel had her regular passengers with parcels and letters loaded in her baggage area. The guard had put them onto a cart and wheeled it into the building, careful not to bump into the tourists as he made his way through the door. Christopher, who had learned about Thanksgiving through history classes at school, was inspired by the chattering of the Americans who talked of nothing but turkey, cranberry dressing and pumpkin pie among other foods.

"You know, Thomas," he said to the blue tank engine. "Even though I've never had a Thanksgiving dinner before, I wouldn't mind celebrating it with Diana and her family."

Thomas seemed against the idea, even if he thought it sounded fun.

"But it's an American holiday and only Americans can celebrate it."

"Maybe not every American celebrates it and I am sure there are a couple of English kids who do."

"I understand, Christopher, but tradition is tradition and by tradition you have to find food for the feast."

So Christopher went to Thomas' driver's home and told them all about Thanksgiving. Mrs. Driver had spent some of her earnings on a new refrigerator and sold the old icebox to a poor family in Hackenbeck who were in most need of it. It was agreed that as a pre-dinner snack, they would have acorns, biscuits, tea, lemonade, grapes and short bread. For desert, they would have chocolate ice cream and some left-over pie if anyone else wanted it.

Mr. Driver then set off to the store to buy the necessary groceries and he helped his wife cook the turkey and make the bread. Christopher and Diana helped to stir the cranberry dressing and the pie, taking small samples as they continued finalizing the dish.

Thomas, meanwhile, was due to take a mail van to Knapford where James had to take it over to Tidmouth. The van was filled with letters and parcels from British families to their American relatives. Fortunately for him, James was in a good mood and the red engine did not have too much work to do today. When James arrived at the station, the stationmaster came up to him.

"A boat of extra tourists have just arrived but they've missed their train. You'll have to take a spare coach to fetch them."

"Are there a lot?" asked James curiously.

"Not too many," said the stationmaster. "But you'd better hurry if they want their dinner."

The only spare coaches James' driver could find were old orange ones from almost twenty years ago.

"I suppose that one will do," he said pointing to the brake coach in the back.

James had been grateful that he had been the only engine not to take Hannah out at all this year, so he coupled himself up to the break coach and travelled as quickly as he could to the harbor. The tourists were glad to see him as he pulled up to the dock, blowing his whistle twice once he stopped.

" _Peep peep!_ Get in quickly please!"

Before they could start, one of the tourists had to hand the guard a covered plate of mashed potatoes into the baggage area of the coach, who did not mind at all.

"As long as it does not make a mess, I will be perfectly fine," she said.

Fortunately on her part, it didn't. The guard held on tight to the plate all the way back to the station. With James travelling at a fast pace, he nearly got the potatoes all over his uniform when he stopped so suddenly, but in the end he saved the meal from being spoiled. With his job done, James was given a well-earned rest while his crew decided to join in on the Thanksgiving festivities.

At Ffarquhar, Christopher's dinner with the driver family went off without a cinch. The food was cooked and well-prepared to perfection as they feasted on the cranberry dressing and the turkey. As for the mashed potatoes, Christopher was gorging into it like he had not eaten in months and while he did not feel hungry at all from the past weeks, he did admit that he felt like he had lost his appetite from overindulging on the potatoes and switched to the corn casserole and the stuffing.

"I say this is the best meal ever," the driver said after finishing off the stuffing.

He wiped the crumbs off his mouth with a napkin in his right hand and walked his way over to the couch, sitting down to rest off and letting the food digest into his stomach. Christopher looked over to Diana and said.

"I am glad that he likes it."

"Well maybe I don't," moaned Diana. "I think those potatoes were making me sick."

"You could eat a whole bowl of potatoes and you'd still wouldn't get sick," teased Christopher.

For the rest of the day the house was filled with unendurable silliness for having celebrated an American holiday in a foreign land, especially if the pilgrims had immigrated from the mainland. Christopher had decided that then and there, he would always remember his first Thanksgiving.

Little did they know on the other side of the world, Japanese forces were being put into action. Admiral Chuichi Nagumo was leading the Japanese First Air Force toward Pearl Harbor in Hawaii, planning to head for home as soon as negotiations between them and the United States were successful, but with no news concerning the events, the air force kept on the move—the Philippines, Wake Island, Midway and Gaum. There was plenty of time for any reinforcements to pick up the trail and assist them in case the air force took immediate action. Then the news came, it was the carrier _Akagi_ , who quite intentionally, made her way to Pearl Harbor carrying A6M2 Zero fighter planes along with six other ships. When the _Kidō Butai_ learned that the Americans had a heavy lack of preparation, they knew that they could have some control over the scene of their planned execution, it took them twelve days and soon on December 7th, the attack had been commenced. From this point on, the United States would find it's own participation in the battlefield.


	19. Percy and the Mighty Load

_8:08 a.m., Tuesday, March 17_ _th_ _, 1942_

The news of the British government's introduction to fuel rationing, spread through the United Kingdom like wildfire when a handful of soldiers got back from overseas. If fuel could be rationed as the engines thought, then their trips from one station to another would have to be shorter, so they moved around the main line at slower speeds, afraid of wasting coal and water if they went too fast. Gordon furiously expressed his opinion on rationing as unjust and selfish of the army even if they needed it the most.

In the meantime, Christopher had not received a letter from his father or his uncle since January when the KOYLI went to participate in the Burma Campaign….and if there was no news to begin with, there was no way of telling him if they were dead or had gone missing in action. He was sitting up in bed, bare chested, looking at the letters that his father had sent him in a makeshift tissue box reminded of all the false hope that told his head over and over that he would come back to get him. But everything in his mind began to coalesce the fact that the war would be much longer than usual. Diana came up to serve him breakfast, as the cold weather was enough to make him sick and he needed a hot bowl of soup to prepare for the outside, aside from a warm jacket that is.

"Good morning," she chimed. "I made you cabbage soup."

She set the tray down on the bed, but Christopher just looked at her, going against his promise of doing something besides crying.

"Why do people go to war, Diana?"

Her face flushed with frustration.

"Christopher, don't even ask me why fools fall in love."

"They could have killed Father and Uncle George, shooting his head off just like that."

"It would take a very strong cannon or a sword to completely remove a person's head from their body," said Diana. "But I wouldn't worry about it. Now eat your soup, Thomas is not feeling well today."

And Diana was right of course: When Christopher went to see the little blue engine, he was feeling glum.

"I think this weather is making me feel ill," Thomas moaned. "I wish spring would come sooner."

"Will you be able to work today?" asked Christopher.

"I'm afraid I won't," Thomas wheezed. "Driver has already telephoned the Fat Director about my condition and he's going to have Percy take my trains today."

"And how are the big engines supposed to get their trains ready?"

"Percy sorted that out. As for the later trains, they'll do it the same way they did it, when I first got my branch line."

Thomas was right of course, when it was time to take their midday trains, Gordon, Henry, James and Edward were already sorting the trucks and coaches out.

"How long will this take for Percy to do Thomas' jobs?" Gordon was starting to go back on his promise. "Why can't the Fat Director buy another tank engine?"

"Relax, Gordon," Henry assured him. "It will only take a few hours then things will be back to normal."

"I understand that," said James after getting his goods train ready. "I just can't stand being on these dirty sidings anymore."

"And I can't stand the thought of what the Fat Director is going to say the minute he comes to check up on you," Edward added.

James was now expecting the worst punishment he could ever imagine and hurriedly went back to work.

Percy was waiting with Annie and Clarabel at Knapford Junction when James came in with his flatbeds of wooden boards, wheat, corn ration and empty trucks needed for the quarry run. They were to be transferred onto Percy's train (coupled behind Clarabel), and James was in a good mood as he coupled himself to the brake van and switched over to the branch line, shunting his train into place.

"Here are your trucks, Percy. Have you any idea what it is?" James asked him.

"No. Is it that important?"

"It sounds important to me."

And so, without a further hint, the transfer was done. After James left, Percy viewed his heavy load.

"This could make up for a lot of building supplies," said the driver. "Enough to build a shack for the people who stay at the quarry overnight."

"Stay at the quarry overnight?"

"For the night shifts in-case they don't come home too sooner and not all of the people who work at the quarry have a home given their class and money. So this could be our way of helping the homeless people on this island."

"A shelter for the homeless?" Percy's eyes went wide. He felt like lightning had hit his mind.

The train was heavy, but Percy wove his way across the line, stopping at each station along the route to pick up and deliver passengers as well as the supplies needed for the shack and the homeless shelter that Percy's driver had in mind. His trucks, now understanding the full eight of the war, were behaving surprisingly well. At Ffarquhar, while Diana took care of matters revolving around Thomas' health, Christopher talked to Percy on the station platform and asked if he could help him with his run. The driver and fireman agreed and as a result, Christopher got to ride in Percy's cab for the journey back to Knapford. Percy's driver told them about the shack for the night men and the homeless shelter for those who were unemployed and whose homes were destroyed by the attack three years ago.

The fuel rationing proved to be difficult for Percy's case and by 6:00 p.m., he was taking some trucks back to Knapford for an extra amount of floorboards when he began to lose steam. He stopped just after the bridge at Elsbridge close to the water tower.

"I'm not sure if there's enough left in that tower to get us all the way to Knapford," said the driver. "But it is worth a try."

And he was right, Percy's tanks were halfway full once the last drop of water left the tower.

"I still need to make the run back to Ffarquhar," Percy added. "Why don't we fetch the water from the river and put it into my tanks."

"If we do," said Christopher. "We'll have to be careful; Thomas told me about the time he discovered there were fish in his boiler after getting into the same predicament."

Percy's fireman scratched his chin and looked back the River Els. He took Christopher's words for granted and walked over to the brake van.

"I haven't crossed this bridge enough times to know, but if we play it safe, we could avoid Percy's boiler from bursting."

The fireman got a bucket from the brake van and eased his way to the river. He filled it up, made sure there were no signs of fish swimming around in it and went back to fill it in Percy's tank seven times over. Then he opened the regulator and Percy continued on his way.

"That's good," said Percy, feeling better at last.

Once he arrived at Knapford, Bertie came with his passengers.

"I've heard about the plans for the homeless shelter, so I'm picking up some volunteers who are willing to help."

The volunteers came back to Ffarquhar on Bertie where they helped the construction crew build the shelter outside the town. Work on the quarry shack was easy, but the shelter proved to be more elaborate. The two story exterior was painted white with a red roof, a bookshelf of train stories was built, a rug for army dogs was laid down in the foyer, a stove was put in the kitchen and calico curtains were hung in the bedrooms. The remaining money used to go to the shelter went to the shack, which was small and held up to about eight bunks, depending on the number of workmen who chose to stay for the night shifts.

It might not have been the best shack for the men who worked in the quarry, but the shelter was efficient nonetheless. An old woman from Tidmouth, who had been looking for a new home after hers was destroyed by a stray bomb, sat down on the velvet sofa to read to the schoolchildren. Thomas soon learned all about the news and on the day he got better, he blew his whistle to all the schoolchildren who passed by on his way up the main line. Percy, on the other hand, was happy to be back helping the big engines with their trains, but he couldn't help feeling like he wanted spend more time with his tank engine friend, helping him on other days, whenever he felt sick.


	20. Christopher's Sick Day

_9:00 a.m., Tuesday, April 14th, 1942_

It would be a whole day before King George VI would award the George Cross to Malta to mark the siege that took place there, but after nursing Diana back to health after she caught a cold, Christopher's own health had gone downhill. He was in bed wearing nothing but a new pair of navy blue shorts that Mrs. Driver had selected from the local tailor.

"I think I caught what Diana had," he told Thomas earlier that morning.

Thomas, however, was ready for a busy day before he noticed Christopher walking back into the house. Perhaps it was something worse.

When he went back inside, Diana noticed how ill he was, and in reciprocation for Christopher's hospitality, immediately cooked up a nice hot bowl of cabbage soup.

"I do not think you should work today," she told him as she set the soup down on the bedside table.

"But I have to help the engines," he said as he removed his jacket.

"Not with a cold like that," Diana shook her head. "And before you wonder who is going to help them, it is going to be me."

Christopher was confused.

"You don't know anything about railways," he protested before realizing he had undervalued her.

"Of course I can. I have seen you work."

Christopher, knowing better than to argue, removed his shirt and shoes and cuddled up into the bed while Diana went to see Thomas at the station.

"Alright Thomas, lets get down to business. After we drop the passengers off, let's say we go to Tidmouth Harbour to collect some hats."

"And my passengers?" Thomas asked fearfully.

"Bertie and Algy can take them as long as the Fat Director doesn't mind. I think he deserves a day off too. I can run this line more efficiently as the first ever girl to become managing director of the North Western Railway."

Thomas did not know it at first, but it seemed that Diana was the type of person who wanted more out of life than just staying at home all day and night.

He took Diana to Knapford Junction and left Annie and Clarabel in a siding. Once Bertie and Algy agreed to take the passengers for the return journey, Thomas was switched onto the main line.

"Well, looks like we're off to Tidmouth to pick up some hats."

While Thomas went to the harbour, Diana went to the Fat Director's office in Tidmouth Station to speak with him as passengers waited for their trains. After telling him about Christopher, she offered to stay and make him tea and crumpets for his lunch, something she had picked up from her mother.

Before she could ask him if the engines needed any repairs, Gordon came to Percy after collecting his coaches, asking.

"Why is Thomas collecting hats from the harbour?"

"Military hats, I assume," mumbled Percy.

"Such a silly errand," huffed Gordon. "At least I am not so fortunate for anything that would go against my prime directive…and that is pulling passenger trains."

But Gordon was soon sorry when Diana, having overheard him, walked out of the office and spoke to the express engine.

"Gordon, since James and Henry don't get to pull the express that often, why don't you take the trucks to Kirk Machan. The hotel staff at Summit will need the extra food for the visitors."

"I absolutely refuse!" Gordon closed his eyes, refusing to believe such a thing. "My ONLY purpose is to pull the express."

"You wouldn't talk to me like THAT? Would you?" came a stern voice.

Gordon opened his eyes and saw the Fat Director coming out of his office with a very unpleasant mug of superiority.

"I suppose so, sir," the big engine muttered sheepishly. "Trucks are important after all."

He remembered the time he had to pull some tanks to Barrow and ended up being late. Now he was cross and longing for more evacuees to come to the island.

"The indignity! I wish this war would end soon."

Meanwhile at Tidmouth Harbour, Thomas was still waiting for the hats to arrive. Edward pulled in with a single van.

"Where are you going with that?" Thomas asked.

"Diana has ordered me to take some cakes to Barrow for the army. Why should the army need cakes? They're not as healthy as fruits and vegetables. Then again, food is food, and it a necessity to survive even on sugar."

And he puffed away.

"Whatever next?" Thomas asked himself. "Aeroplane parts?"

And there were, Henry had to take them to Crosby while James got to take the Express.

"What a lark!" he laughed, rolling along the line. "As if the girl Diana could read my mind. She knows I deserve the Express because I am such a splendid engine."

"At least I won't be stuck here delivering aeroplane parts," grumbled Henry as James passed his way. "They should go to the army at the end of the line."

Diana, on the other hand, was giving the big station a woman's touch as she walked up a ladder and placed a pot of poppies onto a pillar.

"This should brighten up the platform," she smiled. "Mum will be so proud of me."

Percy puffed in, feeling worried.

"Shouldn't I get my axles checked, Diana?" he asked.

"Sorry, not today. I have to put some flowers up. The rest that are left over can go to the grocers. With all of the engines working hard, I have nothing else to do."

"Well, thank goodness you didn't let me pull the Express," peeped Percy. "I would have worked myself to death going all over the main line and back again."

"Then," sighed Diana. "I guess Sir Topham and Lady Hatt will have to run things for me. I'll meet you at the shed."

As Diana tightened Percy's axles back at the shed, Christopher was finding his illness to be somewhat complicated. He remembered the time he had the measles when he was three years old, and his father told him stories of trains that helped to push each other up hills and mountains like the Lickey Incline. Some books that told stories of a marvelous gypsy named Esmeralda seemed to be beyond his thinking process. But without his father by his side telling stories about trains during the countless times he had gotten sick, he was certain that he was now officially old enough to tell his own stories. So he made one up in his head about a female director who caused the engines on Sodor to run willy-nilly. Anything that was comical to him seemed to be just the right amount of medicine to make him feel better until Diana returned home from Tidmouth.

When she did, she found Christopher in a blue bathrobe, sitting at the kitchen table to a slice of green cheese.

"What are you doing out of bed?" she asked.

"Well," said Christopher. "When I was three years old, I had the measles and Dad stayed by my side telling me train stories. I figured it was time for me to tell a story to myself and…I guess it got me to feel right again."

"Really," smiled Diana. "What was your story about?"

"A girl running a railway and everything went topsy-turvy."

"Well, I say that I did a pretty good job tightening Percy's axles. Just as good as you did."

As he told her the rest of the story, Thomas came in to the station where the driver's wife was waiting.

"Sorry I'm late. I had been waiting all day at the harbour for the hats to arrive."

And there they were in van: a total of one hundred hard hats made courtesy of the United States military. The driver and his wife thought they could make a decent amount of money by selling them to a couple of local boys who were old enough to fight.


	21. Halloween Haunts

_7:11 p.m., Saturday, October 31_ _st_ _, 1942_

The golden leaves began to turn red with the coming of the fall, as the seasons often do and what had seemed like a long summer of green grass and blue water, turned to brown earth with grey surfaces. Terence the tractor was hard at work as Thomas puffed two and fro past his field.

He found Christopher sitting on a bench at Ffarquhar Station, his chin resting on his hands as his elbows were in contact with his knees. He was just staring up at the sky, then his eyesight returned to Thomas sitting in front of him.

"I wish I was heading home now, Mum must be so worried about me."

"If she was," Thomas answered. "She would have a broken heart by now."

"Please don't say that," Christopher whispered, curling his legs up to his chest.

"I did not mean to," apologized Thomas. "I was being hypothetical, in other words, imagining what I can know about how your mother feels."

"What would you know about my mother? You never even met her!"

Thomas tried to talk sense into Christopher.

"Well, isn't it natural for a mother to be worried about her young? And what about your sisters? Isn't she worried about them as well?"

Christopher relaxed himself and gazed up at Thomas.

"Well, maybe."

Then Thomas changed the subject.

"Do you know what you'll be for Halloween this year?"

Christopher's expression was one of dismay.

"Thomas, I'm twelve years old now. When you are twelve years old, you're practically a man."

Thomas was flummoxed.

"I find that hard to believe. You're never too old for Halloween and you still look like a boy to me."

"Maybe I'm not growing quick enough."

"You will someday."

And Thomas ran round to take Annie and Clarabel back to front as soon as his passengers were aboard. Christopher returned to Diana's house for lunch. She was looking forward to Halloween and had selected her costume: a military officer. When she asked Christopher what he was going to be, he replied.

"Diana, for the past two years, I have been a bat and a goblin. I can either skip this year, or I can be an engine."

"An engine would be a wonderful idea."

Diana's idea led to him crafting his costume into the shape of a boiler and a funnel made from silk fabric. He also added six wheels, straight piston rods and a flat square cab, almost resembling Thomas. For color, Christopher added red and yellow stripes around the boiler section and Mrs. Driver helped to stitch it together.

But later that day, his worries were coming back to him when a news report of Canterbury being bombed by the Luftwaffe came on the radio. Even though he had no relatives living in Canterbury, it was very nice holiday spot, known for its history and the setting of Geoffery Chaucer's _The Canterbury Tales_ , a well-known book containing stories written in the 15th century. Reports said it was the biggest act of bombing since the Blitz with over 30 planes participating. The first numbers of casualties proved to be too much for Christopher, who attempted to turn off the radio before Diana blocked his hand.

"Look at it this way, All Hallows Eve, or Halloween as we call it now, is the one day that the spirits of the dead can return to the living world. This means that the people who died in Canterbury can try visiting their relatives for one more day before…moving on."

"Can Grandmum and Grandpa come back to visit me too?" Christopher had never heard something like this before.

"They might," Diana smiled.

The news on the radio eventually switched to a hockey team in Montreal. The broadcast mentioned a 21-year-old right wing player named Maurice "Rocket" Richard, a newcomer who helped his team in a 3-2 win against the Boston Bruins. But Christopher could care less about hockey at the moment, he was looking forward to trick-or-treating with Diana for the third consecutive Halloween on Sodor.

When the sun began to set, Percy had been selected to receive a truckload of hay and lime from Tidmouth Harbour to Knapford, which would be loaded onto Thomas' last train to Crowe's Farm. There, the loads would be taken to Mr. Crowe's forty-acre field just outside the farm. At the time Thomas received the load, children on the platform were already dressed as ghouls, wizards, witches and pumpkins and he thought about Christopher all the way to Toryreck.

At Toryreck, only one bag of lime had been left on the platform since the cart that had to be taken to the field was overloaded. It gave Thomas an idea.

"Why not use that extra bag to cover me in white?" he asked his driver. "It'll make me look like a ghost. Perhaps I can get Christopher into the Halloween spirit again by pretending to be a ghost and scaring him."

The driver and fireman were worried about what Mr. Crowe would say, but they carefully covered Thomas until he was white all over. Then they drove slowly into the night.

Christopher and Diana were getting their candy from the last house in Ffarquhar until the boy turned his gaze to the shed. Annie and Clarabel, having already retired for the day, were fast asleep. Leaving Diana, he walked over to the shed hoping to share the news of his night out…but he could not see anyone until he felt the hiss of steam gliding through the doors.

Thomas approached the shed quietly.

"Chrissstopherrr…" said a spooky voice.

Christopher, his back turned on Thomas, turned round, trying to recognize the figure through the steam.

"Who are you?" he asked, trying to sound brave.

"It is Iiiii…the ghooost of Thomasss."

Then the boy plucked up courage.

"Yea? While I'm the monster engine!" he cried in a growly voice. "And this is my shed!"

Thomas kept in tune with his charade.

"Noooo, this was miiinnneee…"

"Mine!"

"Miiinnneeee!"

"You cannot be dead!"

Instead of a disappointing reaction as one might expect, Thomas and Christopher stared at each other for a few moments, then laughed together as a barrage of fireworks all the way from Ireland filled the sky in multiple colours. The other engines, watching from Tidmouth Shed, saw this as well. James was certain that they could have been bombers, but the others thought it looked too colorful in a way that the sparks produced green, blue and purple among others, filling the clouds like food dye.

Thomas was soon cleaned and went to sleep in the shed as Christopher removed his costume.

"I only thought that I could get you back into the Halloween spirit," he admitted after he was free from the lime.

"Well, Diana might have coaxed me to go trick-or-treating with her, but you gave me a big surprise that one would less expect, even on this holiday."

"Everybody gets scared by spooks on Halloween, Christopher, but you proved your courage."

"I only hope I can find the courage in me when I go home, but in any rate, I'll be looking forward to next Halloween. Maybe I'll be the one to scare _you!_ "


	22. Happy Birthday, Christopher!

_3:59 a.m., Friday, July 2nd, 1943_

On the moment he turned thirteen years old, Christopher could think about one thing: his third birthday without his family. In the eyes of many, three was a magical number, but to others it was nothing and thirteen was generally viewed as the number of bad luck. In his dark bed he turned over to see Diana for the first time as a thirteen year old, turning to the world outside the window for the first time as a thirteen year old and for the first time at thirteen years of age, was staring up at the ceiling of night blue, along with the walls and the floor, in which their true colors would not be unveiled until the sun came up.

His right arm reached out for Diana's back, which was exposed to him with only the back strap of her brasserie covering the lower ends of her shoulder blades. Christopher tried not to take it off, just because he was now thirteen did not mean that he had to see too much of the opposite sex. His thoughts went back to all the other females in his life, his mother, his sisters whom he missed, his grandmother, his teacher and several of his classmates. Christopher never thought about loving a girl before and remembering all the times he watched his parents kissing in front of the fireplace.

A tittering feeling came from Diana's back as she woke up and turned to find Christopher pulling back his right hand. She looked dismayed.

"Is that any way to start your birthday?"

"So you remembered," Christopher smiled.

"From the last two birthdays you have had with us, of course."

Christopher turned his attention away from her to the ceiling.

"Come to think of it, those last two ones were fine for me. I did miss my real family those two times, but now it's gotten worse. This war's going to last forever."

Now it was Diana's turn to touch Christopher, specifically smoothing his right arm with a gentle hand.

"Remember what I told you during the attack three years ago? Wars don't last forever."

"You're right," mumbled Christopher. "But seeing how it has been that long, it feels more like an eternity."

Diana, feeling a lethargic weight coming into her eyes, went back to sleep. Christopher continued to look out into the ceiling until his eyes grew heavy and he succumbed to narcolepsy. All was quiet for the rest of the morning until the sun arrived.

The firelighter came at 6:00. Thomas woke up to find the morning sun shining through the roof of his shed. Annie and Clarabel were still asleep, but he felt bright and early. His driver and fireman came to check his controls and with that finished, they were ready to take an abruptly awakened Annie and Clarabel to the station. Christopher, after finishing his breakfast of toast and marmalade, walked up to him on the platform. There he asked.

"You do know that today is my birthday, right?"

"Of course," Thomas answered. "I remember from the first two years."

"And this year is number three. I'm thirteen years old today."

Thomas could remember how the first two parties went, presents, balloons, games and silly hats. This time, he wanted to think of something new, but the guard blew his whistle, snapping him out of his thoughts and he puffed away, but not before shouting to Christopher as he left.

"Maybe we'll talk more when I get back."

Christopher was alone on the platform and he thought about going back into the house before assuming that the driver's family were setting up the decorations, as they had done so last year. He was still young and he did not want to ruin his own surprise should he walk in to find Diana's mother setting up the banners.

Thomas, meanwhile was excited, the only work he thought about doing was delivering party favors and when he met James at Knapford Junction, he told him about Christopher's birthday.

"Well, Gordon is busy, Henry is busy, we are all busy. If Christopher's birthday party is of any concern, that's your driver's family's business."

"I was thinking of someplace new for the party, say….Tidmouth Sheds?"

James' reply was brief and blunt.

"Sounds fair. But as they always say; work first, play later."

So off Thomas went to the branch line, back and forth he went, pulling trucks of coal, goats, logs of wood and grain that some of the crows picked up on his way to Toryrek. When it was over, he took Christopher to the quarry where a large number of stone had to be loaded for the last run of the day. Christopher thought that working in the quarry seemed hard with all the heavy stones he had to lift. Then Thomas took the stone to No. 8000 and told him about Christopher's birthday party, but of course, the big engine had other plans in mind.

At the engine shed, James told Gordon and Henry about having Christopher's birthday party there.

"If it's as good as the Christmas party three years ago," said Henry. "This one should be bigger and louder!"

"We do not want to violate any noise ordinance," replied Gordon doubtfully. "I've heard many tales from driver that the enemy holds parties that are loud enough to be heard all the way from Hamburg."

"You mean the _swingjugend_?" Henry asked. "As for the noise, I think your driver may be exaggerating. I cannot hear any German parties from here. It's too far."

"But still," Gordon finished. "The Fat Director would find it too loud to begin with, even if we have been like a family to young Christopher."

"I thought the only noise we would make would be 'Surprise!' or something," James said, confused by their words.

"Just 'surprise' and that is that," finished Gordon.

"Unless, we tell the Fat Director about it," Henry suggested.

Edward and Percy were informed as well and when the Fat Director came to catch his train at the station, Gordon was the one who told him through clear and spoken words without a hint of showing anxiety.

"Is it possible, sir, to arrange Christopher's birthday party in the sheds?"

"I suppose it would be nice change, Gordon, but all of that depends if you get back by 8:00."

So Gordon headed off to the end of the line with his passengers, whistling every 10 minutes or so to ensure that any animal who strayed onto the line got out of the way. A cow and a couple of deer were all he came upon and they jumped out of the way to safety before he had any chance to run them over.

"Slow down a bit, Gordon," his driver called. "The passengers will be too early to catch the mainland train. We have plenty of time to get back to the sheds before 8:00."

"It's about 5:30 now," Gordon replied.

Going over the Cronk viaduct, he whistled again and a family of robins flew off the tracks and down towards the valley. Gordon was careful not to overuse his whistle, as he had remembered from his experience when his whistle valve malfunctioned.

Back on the branch line, Christopher, having nothing else to do, was also having some trouble with animals. At Mr. Crowe's field he was trying to move a mother cow back into her pen.

"Will you at least try?" he asked her.

"Moo," rebuked the cow.

"I guess that means no," Christopher moped.

He tried stroking her with his right fingers and she seemed to go a few feet further and when she was in the pen, Christopher walked back home.

 _Some birthday!_ He thought.

When he got back to town, he saw Thomas over by the platform with his driver's family. Curious, he walked over and Thomas said to him.

"There you are, Christopher. It's time for your birthday surprise."

So they climbed aboard Annie and Christopher asked them.

"What sort of surprise is it?"

"Well, it would be obviously ruined if we told you," Diana smiled.

Everyone was silent until they reached Tidmouth Sheds. The Fat Director was there, and he opened the doors to the dark shed. Christopher followed Diana, her mother and father inside, and what came next was the most wonderful "SURPRISE!" he had ever heard. At the sound of the cheer, the lights came on and all the engines were there along with their crew. To Christopher, it was the Christmas party all over again.

"Well, aren't you surprised?" asked Edward.

"I am," Christopher succeeded in smiling.

"It was Thomas' idea to have the party here for a change," said James.

Christopher looked back at Diana, then to the engines, expressing his happiness at the party made just for him.

"Thank you everyone!"

There were presents, music, balloons and silly hats to wear. A wonderful party that peered into ideals of friendship and fun. Happiness, as it seemed, made the war feel like an old wives tale. And when he got back, Christopher found a parcel on the table in the kitchen that the driver had been saving in the closet until Christopher's birthday came. It was from his father, who had at the time, been in Lampedusa, which had surrendered to the Allies only last month. Opening it up, he saw a manuscript with rough illustrations depicting engines with faces. It was called _The Three Railway Engines._

Now fully realizing that he had the best birthday ever, Christopher went upstairs to his bed and sat down to read his father's manuscript all the way to the very end.


	23. Two New Engines

_2:00 p.m., Saturday, July 10_ _th_ _, 1943_

Less than a week after Christopher's birthday, the Allied forces invaded the Italian island of Sicily. A total of 150,000 British, American and Canadian troops victoried over Mussolini's men, who had no moral, but were as ruthless as their superior who wished to create a new Roman empire. Fearing that everything he had worked so hard to build would crumble within the years to come, a confused Hitler found it difficult to concentrate his army in one place. Thanks to the corpse of a gentleman carrying plans for an invasion on Greece, the German forces were diverted from Spain to that country.

At the same time, the Fat Director had announced that there would be two new engines to replace Eagle, 98462 and 87546 from three years ago. One would be from America, the other from the Southern Railway. Their precise names were Rosie and Neville.

"A happy engine is a useful engine," was all the Fat Director said before he left.

Both engines were colored black but had a difference in gender, Rosie was a female tank engine while Neville was a male tender engine with a square body. When they arrived (Neville by rail, Rosie by ship), they found out that they had much to learn.

"It looks like a decent shed," said Neville as he and Rosie hunkered over the empty Tidmouth Sheds. "And there's plenty of room for the both of us."

"Maybe," replied Rosie doubtfully. "But there are others who might have already taken our spots."

"Then in any case," said Neville. "We must introduce ourselves to the other engines."

Rosie went off to Knapford Junction. Thomas was there with Christopher helping Clarabel's guard with some heavy parcels. When Rosie whistled "hello" the boy and the tank engine noticed how similar her whistle was to Thomas', but it was higher.

"Hullo!" huffed Rosie brightly. "I'm Rosie! One of the new engines! What are you doing?"

"Christopher here is helping me with some parcels to be delivered on my branch line," said Thomas. "I want to get all of this mail up to Ffarquhar in no time."

"If it is that heavy," Rosie peeped. "I could come as your back engine."

But Thomas wasn't used to female engines…yet.

"No thank you, I think I can manage."

And he chuffed quickly away once Christopher climbed aboard Clarabel.

At Dryaw, Christopher said to Thomas.

"I think it would be nice having Rosie on your branch line in case you break down or something. Also, I may not have a problem with female engines, but I think this railway could use some since all the ones I have seen so far are all males."

"I shall form an opinion on that," said Thomas. "Then we will see. For all I care, Rosie could try to imitate me."

As wild as it sounded, Rosie was actually insecure to the point where she tried to copy another engine's movements. When she saw James delivering boxes of jelly to Knapford Junction, she tried to copy the steam that emitted from his wheels. Then, an hour later Gordon whooshed by with the express, blowing his whistle thrice. Rosie did the same, catching an unnecessary amount of attention.

Meanwhile, in the yards, Edward and Henry were talking with Neville. As kind as they were, Neville's square, diesel-like body was so odd that it made them uncomfortable.

"Back where I come from," Neville began. "My brothers and sisters were called 'austerity engines'; said to be the most powerful engines on the Southern Railway, no thanks to the war giving us lots of jobs to do like pulling in aeroplane parts and tank cannons. But do you know that they also called us?"

Henry and Edward listened…

"Ugly Ducklings, Coffee Pots and Charlies."

"Isn't that a coincidence?" Edward tried not to chuckle in case he unintentionally hurt Neville's feelings. "We used to have engines called Coffee Pots during the last war. One of them, whose name I hear is Glynn, is still on the branch line that now belongs to Thomas somewhere."

"I could care less about how strong you are," Henry rebuked pompously. "I am the strongest engine on the island and that's a fact. Perhaps you could demonstrate…?"

So Neville backed up to a flatbed of rails, but his driver could hardly see where he was going and bumped the trucks hard.

"Oh! Clumsy ox!" cried the trucks.

Neville felt sad, but Henry was pleased.

"Told you so," he said rudely.

And he puffed off before muttering to Edward.

"If he is as strong as he says he is, he is likely to take over my job and No. 8000's."

On their way to Elsbridge, Thomas and Christopher noticed heavy winds coming in from the north and pretty soon it began to rain. It was hard work, so hard that Thomas didn't think that Rosie would be strong enough to withstand a storm such as this.

But Thomas was wrong, of course. Bored out of her mind, she decided to follow Thomas up the branch line. She tried whistling, but even if she assumed that Thomas did not hear her, he did not whistle back.

As the rain raged on, Christopher began to shiver in Thomas' cab as they puffed furiously into the valley. Thomas was almost at Mrs. Kyndley's cottage, certain that he would not be seeing Rosie for the rest of the day, when disaster lay ahead. Earth and stones effected by the rain tumbled down the banks and blocked Thomas' path. He stopped just in time.

"Bother!" cried Thomas. "Now we are sure to be late!"

Christopher looked out of the cab and with the driver and fireman's help they set to work shoveling the landslide away. But the rain only made it worse, it turned the soil into mud and it dirtied their clothes. This was making Thomas impatient.

"I might as well bash my way through!" he said bravely. "I can't let any of my clients down!"

But it would have been a foolish mistake on his part, had it not been for Rosie turning up at that moment.

"Hullo!" she tooted happily.

Then she noticed the landslide and Thomas shouted back to her.

"It's no use trying to get through without a plough. And you're not even strong enough."

"But maybe if we work together," Rosie began. "We can get through this landside and if you do get stuck, I'll be there to pull you out."

Rosie was soon coupled to the end of the train and Christopher and the crew went back into the cab. The crew's efforts made the landslide small enough for Thomas to get through at top speed, so they backed up and charged it fiercely. Thomas felt a small drag as he pushed through the earth, fearing that he would get stuck, but soon they had whooshed through the tunnel and brought the last parcels safely to Ffarquhar.

Back on the main line, Neville tried pulling a passenger train next. He was given permission by the Fat Director to take James' passenger train and take it to Cronk. While he was at Wellsworth, he met Henry with his own passenger train on the opposite side.

"If you so much as even dare to compete with my strength, there will be another thing coming."

And it was, the rain was letting up, but neither of them seemed to notice it.

"And what would that be?" asked Neville. "Another boast about how strong you are?"

"Perhaps," said Henry, confidently. "But it's your size that doubts me. Bigger means strong, and in my opinion, you are just about as strong as James."

"Maybe I am," Neville smiled. "Is he a mixed traffic engine like I am?"

"Yes," replied Henry.

Just then, Edward came in with his last train. He looked worn out.

"Hullo," said Neville happily.

"I could use some help back to the sheds. Those trucks were very heavy pulling them up the hill."

"And it's a good thing you managed to control your speed when coming down," Neville observed. "Perhaps I can take them back for you."

But before he could, the stationmaster blew his whistle, and Neville puffed away, remembering his passengers.

Edward, now too exhausted to puff another mile, went over to the water tower and had a nice drink before going to a siding. Henry left and didn't care what he thought…but as he travelled up and down Gordon's Hill, he did start thinking, about what to say to Neville when they met again.

He found him at Cronk, stopped at a red signal.

"Neville," Henry uttered apologetically. "I want to be contrite for my rudeness, Gordon does a better job at that than me, and for saying that you can't be as strong as I am. I thought about it on the way here."

Neville smiled, knowing that he had a good friend in Henry.

When Christopher got his chance to meet the new engines properly at Tidmouth, it was close to sunset. Neville told him about how Henry underestimated him, while Rosie told Christopher how her boredom drove her into helping Thomas at the landslide. Christopher could only chuckle at Rosie's story, he strongly believed that she had a much stronger reason for helping her new friend.


	24. Merlin the Magic Engine

_6:03 a.m., Tuesday, August 17_ _th_ _, 1943_

Gordon, James and Henry had a miserable morning. There were very few trains today as the ration supply decreased at inching rate and the station, plastered with posters of Rosie the Riveter, was occupied by a handful of passengers. The weather was turning cold with slow progression as the year came out of the summer and into the fall. The Allied invasion of Sicily was complete and the RAF had set off to bomb Peenemünde over the course of an entire day, bringing an end to the V-weapons program in what was to be known as Operation Hydra. As Thomas came in to sort the trains with Christopher in his cab, Gordon eyed the tank engine with dissatisfaction and told the others.

"I for one think Thomas is spending far too much time with that urchin."

"Well, he does fix us from time to time," said Henry.

"And sometimes he gives us advice on how to be really useful," added James.

"True, but there are times where they do nothing but play. I think a task that involves a special delivery to Barrow and back would be enough to keep him occupied for most of the day."

"Send Thomas all the way to the mainland again?" asked Henry.

"I am certain that he will not go too far this time," Gordon puffed. "And mark my words, he'll be tired by the end of the day."

"Well, whatever you think is best, Gordon," James agreed. "The Fat Director hasn't been too busy lately and we haven't even seen him for at least three days. He must be preoccupied."

"Sorry, I'm late!" came a voice nearby. It was Edward.

"What's wrong, Gordon? Posture not important anymore? I am surprised."

"Nothing," muttered Gordon. "I was hoping for a day."

"By the way, Gordon," said Edward. "I just took the morning express for you."

"How could you?" Gordon was stunned.

"I got up early. Rosie and Neville have already taken the goods to Maron and I have nothing else to do."

"Do the passengers mind?" asked Henry.

"They don't. Traffic has become quiet recently. Must be the rations."

"Or the metals," James commented. "I hear that they are making a small number of engines on the mainland due to those shortages."

Then he said to Gordon.

"What do you suppose Thomas will be taking to the mainland for today?"

"A special load, of course."

"What kind of special?" Edward asked.

"Metals, ammunition, canisters for flamethrowers sentry armor and other protective devices."

In the meantime, Thomas was pulling in a quartet of coaches onto the platform. The coaches were for Henry's midday train and when the big green engine came to take them, he told Thomas:

"Gordon has a _special_ special for you over by the goods platform."

So Thomas went to collect it: a train of eight trucks with two CCT vans in the front, four flatbeds of wood in the middle and two coal trucks in the back. It looked like the sort of load the required help from another engine.

"Do you think I can handle this load all by myself?" he asked Christopher.

"As another famous engine once said, 'I think I can'."

Thomas took this for granted as he was coupled to the train, and after about four seconds of struggle, he pulled it away from Tidmouth.

He was already tired once they reached the top of Gordon's Hill, but Thomas was not willing to give up so easily, as he had to be a really useful engine, even in wartime. The speed of the train grew slower and slower. Christopher checked the fuel gauge and knew that Thomas needed some water. They stopped at Ballahoo where Thomas had a long drink and soon they were on their way again. Once they had crossed the Vicarstown Bridge, they found a small armada waiting for them at Barrow…along with an engine that Thomas had never seen before, attached to a train of ammunition.

The engine in question was a silver King Arthur class with three stovepipe chimneys. He had the number "783" on his tender and on both sides above the wheels, his red and gold nameplates spelled "Merlin".

"Merlin," Christopher wondered as he stepped out of the cab. "As in Merlin the Magician?"

"That I am," Merlin replied proudly. "And I can be a very good hider. With my special smoke, I can make myself invisible."

"How can you do that?" asked Thomas.

"That is because I was built to be a stealth engine and stealth engines are designed in a special way to make them invisible to the enemies from above. Like this."

Three clouds of thick steam shot out from his funnels and Merlin disappeared entirely from view, but despite this, he could still be heard from the thick white cloud exclaiming.

"Now you saw me and now you do not."

His answer from the interior of the haze told Thomas and Christopher that he hadn't moved and the smoke began to clear away, proving their suspicions.

"Well, what do you think of that? Was it magical enough for you?"

"On a magician's scale, I would say 'yes'," replied Christopher.

"You mean to say that it was an amateur's job?" Merlin was hurt.

"No!" protested Thomas. "What Christopher meant to say was, that you could put on shows for children, even the ones who are orphans. They could make a benefit out of it."

"Children," thought Merlin. "That seems like a good idea. I could bring some over from the nearest towns, including a magician, a clown and a ballerina."

"Just the magician will do," Christopher assured him. "We're not going to have a circus."

"I thought they were just about as magical as magicians," muttered Merlin.

In the next hour, Merlin took over the special and found some coaches at Carnforth. Another engine took the special to Lancaster and Merlin's crew set up a handwritten advertisement for a magician and some children. They found one not too far from the train yard who entertaining some troops who were former members of the disbanded British Expeditionary Force as well as current members of the Home Guard who were going on a visit. They too offered to help by entertaining the children who were invited and within thirteen minutes, Merlin was on his way to Vicarstown with two coaches full of children from every stop along the route.

When he arrived, Christopher scanned the crowd, hoping to see if his sisters were amongst the children Merlin had collected. But alas, they were not there. Merlin watched as the magician pulled a Queen of Clubs from a little girl's ear, pulled a rabbit out of his hat and pulled a long colorful string of fabric from his right sleeve, most of which impressed the children, but not so much for the troops, who tried telling stories of battles with the enemy over at Cherbourg and Le Havre. Thomas even whistled in the style of an aeroplane to provide the sound effects.

The magician had done more than he had ever known and the final act was saved for Merlin.

"All right, everyone!" he encouraged the children. "Close your eyes and wait for my signal."

Merlin's drive turned the steam release knob and Merlin disappeared into a thick cloud of smoke. The children felt the smoke and assumed it to be the signal that Merlin had mentioned. So they uncovered their eyes and could see nothing but white as though they had disappeared off the face of the earth and into another dimension. But when Merlin returned within view, however, the children could now realize that magic wasn't really his specialty.

"Children are growing much too smart nowadays," said Merlin's driver.

Thomas decided to take them to Culdee Fell instead. There, the children would have a breathtaking view of the mountain from Summit Hotel, if not Devil's Back station should there be a gale. Christopher, watching Wilfred leave the station with his coach, saw Merlin come up to them on the platform.

"I'm sorry that your trick didn't work, Merlin, but is there anything else you can do?"

"If I was painted forest green like they do in the army, I could have better chance of being invisible."

Merlin's tone went from doubtful to hopeful.

"But I will do everything I can to help my country. Perhaps if I asked my manager for a new paint job—"

"Merlin," Christopher interrupted. "I think just pulling and pushing would be good enough for you. In fact, I don't think the enemy has been showing up over these lands since two years ago."

"I suppose I could take the children home," finished Merlin. "It's almost suppertime for them."

Once Wilfred brought the children down to the bottom of the mountain, they all climbed aboard Merlin and soon he was heading off for home. Thomas and Christopher waved and whistled "goodbye" and Merlin whistled "goodbye" in return, all the way back to the junction.

But for a long time afterwards, Merlin would do a great deal of many other things to help his fellow countrymen and engines until the day would come when the war had ended. Perhaps he would be the one to find a magic railway where he would be accepted as a "magic engine", but I think he's happy with his disappearing act, don't you?


	25. Terence and the New Year

_12:00 p.m., Saturday, January 1_ _st_ _, 1944_

The new year came with the greatest of promises for everyone whose allegiance was only to that of the Allied forces. In just two days, the RAF would launch a raid on the Reich Chancellery. The Syrian Republic would gain independency and a day afterwards, Operation Dexterity would begin with the Allied landing at Saidor, New Guinea. In other events, the USC Trojans would win the Rose Bowl, _A Tree Grows in Brooklyn_ would go on to become a bestselling novel and William Tubman would take office as the 19th President of Liberia, a country that did not declare war on Germany and Japan until at least three weeks later.

Christopher and the other engines had too much fun celebrating the new year, watching the fireworks and singing songs that hoped for a better tomorrow. But with the snow having covered the island since late November, the mood had gone from solemn to depressing as he sat outside Ffarquhar Station where Thomas was taking on passengers.

"Christopher?" he asked. "Are you happy here?"

"Yes," said Christopher standing up. "Everyone has been so kind; Edward, Henry, Gordon…"

"With me?"

"Yes," said Christopher softly. "But can anybody be happy trapped on an island full of talking engines when there's a war going on? I miss home. I miss my family."

Thomas could hear the sadness in his voice. Sure the war had been going on for five years, but Christopher's homesickness was slowly coming back to him. The happy face of Wilbert flashed through the boy's mind.

"Dad helped me how to waltz when I went to my school dance. And whenever we danced back at home, the room was full of music."

"How much do you miss him now?" asked Thomas.

"Very much."

The winter seemed to personify Christopher's mood, but the other engines were having troubles of their own. Gordon had trouble taking the Express out of Tidmouth due to the icy rails, Henry was fearing a reputation of the Flying Kipper accident that changed his appearance forever and James was getting frostbite from waiting in a siding for some extra coal. His fire had gone out and Edward had to take his trains. Percy, having nothing else to do, was warm and snug inside the shed while his driver and firemen drank hot coco in the station café.

Terence the tractor was busy looking for a tree to save for next Christmas when Thomas came along. Christopher came down from the cab and spoke to him.

"Hello Terence, need any help?"

"Sure!" smiled the tractor. "Maybe I can help you load some trees. We're saving them for next year in case you didn't know."

Then he looked at Thomas.

"I see you have brought your snowplough with you."

"Well, it is very snowy out today," said Thomas. "Not that you have ever been bothered by snow and ice before."

"And I know this," interjected Christopher. "Because Thomas told me all about that business with the snowdrift."

Terence smiled.

"And before that, he didn't think my caterpillar tracks were useful, but now, he thinks better of them."

"No thanks to a heavy pile of snow," Thomas muttered.

And as soon as the trees were loaded, he puffed back to Tidmouth. Christopher stayed behind to help Terrence with other duties.

At the sheds, Henry was admiring the overcast sky with only Percy for company.

"If it rained, not that I am afraid of it anymore," the big green engine said to the small one. "They would just come as snowflakes…or frozen drops as far as my driver tells me."

"Isn't that what they would call hail?" Percy asked him.

"Indeed," Henry replied in a warning tone. "But, I doubt that will ever happen today, it's too quiet."

He looked left and right, wondering.

"Where's Christopher? He was supposed to wax my paintwork so that the snow doesn't spoil it."

"Last I heard," Percy explained. "He was going with Thomas to deliver some trees to be held in storage for next Christmas."

Then Thomas came in with his goods train. He arrived at platform 2 where the Fat Director was waiting.

"Very nice, Thomas," he appraised. "That should be enough for next year's holidays…if they will be able to last by then. Perhaps, you could also collect the scouts needed for tonight's jubilee, they'll be looking forward to a rest before they're called back again. And when you've done that, you can help Terence some more by collecting a very large tree."

"Not to worry, sir," peeped Thomas. "Once I've unloaded this lot, I'll go to the harbour and get the scouts."

"Thank you, Thomas. That will be wonderful."

Christopher was waiting at the field when Thomas came by.

"Anything we can do later today?"

"Sorry!" called Thomas. "Can't talk, got to get these scouts over to a jubilee!"

And he whooshed right through the tunnel. Snow had covered the clearing to a wheel-deep level and when Thomas charged it, he and the scouts felt a small jerk.

"I really do need to be careful in this weather," he murmured to the coaches.

And Annie and Clarabel had to agree.

Skarloey and Rheneas were resting in their sheds, watching the first day of the new year go by.

"This is the quietest New Year's Day we have ever had," Rheneas sighed. "No trains to pull, no work to be done. It's as if everyone's concentration has turned to the main line."

"Not for long," Skarloey whispered. "Here comes our drivers."

They greeted the engines with warm, friendly faces.

"Some of the visitors will be wanting a ride over to Lakeside for a New Year's after-party. The Refreshment Lady could use some extra pounds to help provide war bonds."

So Skarloey went to collect the coaches, but he was confused all the same.

The Culdee Fell engines had a similar situation too.

"Haven't we already celebrated the new year up at Summit Hotel?" Ernest asked Culdee.

"Maybe, but there are at least a few who'd rather celebrate the first day, not the day before."

"Well," said Shane Dooiney. "We'd better send another batch of partygoers up the mountain. I just hope there won't be a gale when I reach Devil's Back."

Fortunately, the wind was calm in comparison with two days ago, when one such gale nearly blew Wilfred off the tracks, or so he told the others.

Duke was thinking of a New Year's resolution. He explained what it was to Stuart and Falcon.

"Driver tells me revolutions are promises to make better persons of themselves in the new year."

"Then maybe," Falcon told Stuart. "We could try to be as wise as Granpuff."

"And when new engines come," replied Stuart. "We'll be the ones talking about His Grace and get a chance to call someone 'impudent scallywags' for a change."

Both engines agreed that it would be a very odd change for them.

But Christopher's mood was a pure reflection of the overcast skies and sadness that had befallen on the families whose men died in battle. He didn't tell anything to Terence and he didn't say anything to Thomas once he returned from dropping off the scouts. The engine came up to the tractor when the latter asked.

"Back for more trees, Thomas?"

"Yes, a big one for the big station next year."

Christopher could see that the tallest tree was on the other side of a pond that been frozen over by the ice. Perhaps this could be his chance for an eternal peace of mind.

"I'll get it," he told them.

"I wouldn't go over that pond if I were you," warned Thomas. "The ice might not be strong enough!"

But Christopher had already grabbed an axe from Terence's wagon and was walking slowly toward the tree.

"I'll go after him," replied Terence. "After all, snow and ice don't bother me with my caterpillar tracks!"

But no sooner had Christopher reached the center of the pond when he stopped and let the ice crack under his feet. Terence's weight, coupled by the heat of his motor, brought larger cracks around the center. Thomas and Terence both gasped in surprise as Christopher fell through the ice and he didn't even struggle to then surface.

"Hold on, Christopher!"

Terence's driver dove in and hoped that he could save the boy before he reached the bottom. As he sank, Christopher tried to ignore the cold and the darkness that penetrated his ears and his mouth. But then he felt something pull him back up. Was it an angel? Christopher couldn't tell anymore as he slipped slowly into unconsciousness.

He was soaking wet when he was bought back to the surface and while Thomas feared for his life, Terence was overdramatic.

"I don't know if you can hear me but, I'm sorry, Christopher! I'M SORRY!"

But Thomas' drive got a plaid blanket that he had been using in the cab, wrapped Christopher in it and took him back to the shed in Ffarquhar. Diana was there, having heard the news and she was grateful to see that Christopher had recovered.

"What made you try to chop that tree down by yourself?" she asked sternly.

Christopher's sad eyes went to her, then to Thomas and he bit his lip while trying to get the words out of his mouth.

"I just wanted to die…I haven't heard from Dad or Uncle George in so long that, I thought they were dead. And I thought that maybe if I died too, I could be with them again. A life without my father is just too unbearable."

Diana sympathized with Christopher very deeply and was glad that he not taken his own life.

"Then is a lesson learned here," said Thomas. "You have to be sensible if you want to stay safe. Wilbert lives in your heart as much as he is somewhere out there amongst the tired, the poor and weak."

"Maybe those other kids back home were right," Christopher murmured in realization. "They all their miss their fathers too."

One hour later, or two given the most, Christopher and Diana were at the jubilee with a small group of partygoers who were looking forward to celebrating the first night of the new year. Before leaving, Diana had given Christopher a letter from his father dated December 26th. Somehow it had gotten mixed up in the mail and had only just arrived. Christopher read the letter while he was at the party, though at a secluded area outside as the song "Silver Wings in the Moonlight" was blasting in the pub.

"Dear Christopher,

If you are reading this, then I may be lost or just currently busy with important matters. If any rumors are true, then our current battle against the Italians will be a lot harder than Africa. With the help of Uncle George, we preoccupied our time telling stories to the local children seeing how much they reminded me of you. So that their minds would not be corrupted by the danger of war, we told them about Sodor and how much of a wonderful place it would be to live there.

There have been several traitors in the army, either by deserting or defecting to the enemy. They think it is the right thing to do. But why, you are asking, why would they do such a thing? Because they want to follow their hearts as much you have to follow yours, but those traitors lead lives that are unbalanced and biased. Perhaps some of them are angry after everything they have done for their countries, after all, people are easy to turn against each other and accuse the traitor of horrible things that are easily dealt with through execution.

Perhaps when the war ends and we are together again, all traces of anger will subside and we must be brave so that fear will not take its place, as your uncle and I had done when we rescued a pocketful of soldiers from Dunkirk and brought back that toy train set I had been intending to save for your birthday, but forgot about it and had it sent to Sodor as a Christmas present. During our preparations for Tunisia, among several other campaigns, I thought about deserting the army myself, but I was afraid that if I did so, I would be executed just like those traitors and people would start calling me a coward.

The KOYLI is just a few steps closer from reaching Germany and recently a military coup has been staged in Bolivia while the American general Eisenhower has been promoted to Supreme Allied Commander Europe. Despite my promises to the contrary, I may never see you again. And if I don't, then I want you to live your life to the fullest and you can tell your children that I was a hero who helped the French Resistance take back their beloved city of Paris (if that ever happens).

Like everyone else in the infantry, I just want to get on with a normal life, so I say that we let God take the path for us, so that He will show us where to go in life. And gradually, when time passes and everything else heals, the right time for telling the world about Sodor will come once I find a decent person to publish my manuscript.

If I ever survive, I would like to be a reverend; a job that I can hold not only because I love you, but because I loved Thomas as well. Please make sure that, when the war is over, he or any of the other engines will take you back to London. Only then, will visitors get a chance to see Sodor as it was meant to be seen after the damage has been reversed…as it looked a lifetime ago.

Your loving daddy,

Wilbert"

And when he went to bed later that night, Christopher pondered over his father words and hoped for the best that the war would be over soon.


	26. Easter Spills

_9:44 a.m., Sunday, April 9_ _th_ _, 1944_

The newsreel of the day by Gaumont British News told railway officials that holidays were not a necessary time to travel, but that didn't stop the engines on Sodor from bringing in holidaymakers trying to get out of the war-torn homes that were nothing but rubble and ash, so to speak. Easter Sunday, as it was on that day, was a time for children to put on their Sunday best and search for colored eggs left behind by the Easter Bunny. Most of the eggs were colored baby blue, yellow and light pink; hardly any colored that would have pleased a certain James, who watched the children on the platform of Knapford Junction.

"I wish they had red eggs," he muttered to no one but his crew.

At last, Thomas came along with Annie, Clarabel and Christopher, who was carrying a basket of eggs.

"Would you like to see the eggs the Easter Rabbit left us?" the boy asked the former red engine.

"Are they red ones?"

"Well, I did find one with blue and red stripes around it. I think it reminds me of Thomas, don't you?"

"Red is the only proper color for an engine," James hissed. "Blue is overrated. Why I wouldn't be caught dead in that color!"

"You should talk," snapped Thomas. "It's a good thing we're all painted black. I am so sick of hearing you be so boastful!"

"Humph!" snorted James and he went to take his train to Maron.

At Wellsworth, another engine of the former blue was pushing his limits even more.

"I was hoping you could take a shipment of paint over by Brendam Docks back to the big station," said Edward. "If you can do that, I'd be happy to take your passengers."

"I suppose," sighed James, even if he did not enjoy the position of pulling trucks.

James hoped that it would not be a slow goods, which would require stopping at every station to pick up more trucks. He left the coaches for Edward, and went to the junction to be switched onto the branch line.

Once he arrived at Brendam, James went onto a turntable to pull the train head-on and observed it when he reached the loading dock where a crane was carefully loading buckets of paint onto the ground, where the workmen would them into box vans. The paint cans were to be used by school children to paint pictures in Easter colors, bringing the art of a living Easter egg to life.

But no sooner had James had been hooked to the front of the train, when the wobbly crane's hook broke off the arm. Paint cans tumbled down from the platform and splattered down all over James, covering him in blue, pink, yellow and magenta. James, as he had seen it, looked very silly indeed.

"I look like a living Easter egg!" he moaned.

"Now is not the time to mourn," his driver said. "The children and workmen need their paints faster than they can make them."

So the next time James saw Edward, he decided to take over his passengers for him. Edward, who had tried not to laugh along with the rest of the children when James arrived back at Wellsworth, agreed instantly.

"I do not know what has gotten into him," Edward told Christopher later that day. "Perhaps all that paint had brightened his mood."

When Christopher went with Diana to Tidmouth station to deliver an early packed supper to the Fat Director, James was pulling in. Christopher looked up as the Easter painted engine came to a stop. The driver told him about the incident with the crane and Christopher assured him.

"I think James would be the perfect Easter engine. He could make all the children feel right again if they rode in him."

But his idea had already come to pass, for a group of schoolchildren from Edward's branch line were walking out of the coaches to take another look at James' oddly colored paintwork. They giggled and they were amazed about it.

"Those colors look so adorable," said a little girl. "It reminds me of a time I spilled paint all over my lovely dress during a party."

James blushed and could only stifle a chuckle at the girl's comment.

Later on, Percy was speaking to Christopher after preparing for Gordon's afternoon train.

"Christopher, do you really think there is an Easter Bunny?"

"I believe in the Easter Bunny as much as I believe in Santa Claus…"

Then he had an idea.

"But if there were such a thing as an Easter Engine, that would probably attract more visitors."

There were no rabbit ears fit for an engine's size, so Christopher got out a marker from the Fat Director's office and drew whiskers onto Percy's cheeks and drew his nose black. The driver seemed to like it and let Percy work the rest of the day, giving the Troublesome Trucks a taste of their own medicine (somewhat), but even they thought it was funny.

"Look, it's him! The Easter Engine!"

Percy tried to keep his temper in check as the trucks laughed and then finally it died once the sun was setting. Percy, whose driver was now cleaning off his make-up, was looking forward to a rest and so were the other engines. James had also been cleaned of his spills and now felt sorry that it had to go away.

"If those trucks said you were the Easter Engine," he asked Percy. "Then what does that make me?"

"An Engine Egg?"

Percy, Edward and James laughed about it, but Gordon and Henry found it childish (at first) and went to sleep.

Christopher had to agree with Thomas that this seemed to be the most eventful Easter he ever had and all at once, he was too excited to tell his family about the "legendary Easter Engine" once he saw them again. Perhaps, when his father came back, they would draw engines on their Easter eggs instead of squiggles for a change.


	27. James' Limited Service

_2:15 p.m., Wednesday, July 5_ _th_ _, 1944_

Mrs. Driver took Christopher and Diana to Tidmouth Station to pick up a parcel from her relatives in Poland. The parcel in question was a large box of sausages, crackers and chocolate imported right under the Nazi's noses. There were also inner tubes of rations, which the US Army by now had discontinued, followed by a small icebox to keep the chocolate from melting while it was refrigerated aboard the ship.

"Now, I want you to wait for me while I get the post, so don't go too far or else I'll have to go on a wild goose chase just to get you back."

That was all she said before disappearing into the post office. Close to the platform behind the two children, James was resting, his steam hissing like a snake in the sun as he was attached to a train of five coaches and attached to it at the very end was Hannah, looking impatient. Christopher walked up to the red engine.

"How are you James?"

"Never been better," the red engine said unenthusiastically, but not entirely emotionless. "With Gordon pulling the Express, the Fat Director has ordered me to pull the Limited and he has also invited a special visitor. To be precise, Dame May Whitty."

Christopher's eyes widened up a bit.

"Dame May Whitty is on this island? My mum's a fan of her work. Can I see her?"

"Dame Whitty has chosen Hannah to be her own private coach, all the way at the end of my train," said James. "She doesn't want to attract too much attention."

"It would mean so much to my Mum if I told her that I got a chance to see her. I could even get her autograph."

"Then make it quick," James warned. "I'll be leaving very soon."

Christopher soon forgot all about Diana still sitting with her back to him on the bench by the post office as he made his way the end of the train. As he boarded Hannah, greeting her with a quick "hullo", the guard blew his whistle and James lurched forward, not caring at all if Christopher met his special passenger within the remaining time. He called out to Diana while he was still standing from the rear platform, but James' chuffing drowned out his cries.

"Looks like you're going to Vicarstown with me," Hannah said.

And by the time Mrs. Driver had gotten out of the post office, all she found was her daughter. Diana had no idea exactly where Christopher had gone to, but now her suspicions turned to James, who was already out of the station.

As they passed Tidmouth Sheds, Christopher opened up the door and there stood May Whitty, wearing an elegant African colored dress.

"Are you a fan?" she asked.

"I am and so's my mum."

Dame Whitty sat down on the left front seat by the door.

"Why not you sit next to me," she said, taking complete trust of the fourteen-year-old, "I could use some company on this long visit."

Christopher did so and as they talked of films and life that left the war unconcerned, they looked out the window as the countryside shifted from station to station and they looked out again as James chugged up Gordon's Hill, where the view became a spectacular sight with every ounce of altitude that brought them closer to the top.

"This view reminds me of when I starred in _Lassie Come Home_. Did you see that movie?"

"I read the book," Christopher told her.

The old woman placed a comforting hand on his right shoulder.

"Such a noble thing to do," Dame Whitty smiled. "reading the book first. That way, it will not be forgotten."

Hannah, not particularly a new coach so to speak, had forgotten that she needed to go to the works to have her coupling chain replaced with a new one. By the time she was assigned to James' train, it was too late for her and the old coupling that had started to become rusted from not being used much of the time. It began to rattle under the strain of James pulling his coaches as hard as he could.

"Help!" cried Hannah once she saw the weakened state of her chain. "I'm about to break free!"

And so she did once the rusty chain snapped. Hannah broke away from the Limited and began to slide back, picking up speed as she rolled down the hill. James looked back and stopped once he had reached the top.

"Dame Whitty's in there!" he shouted to his crew. "We have to stop Hannah before she goes too fast!"

"She is equipped with a handbrake," said James' driver. "But I'm not sure if Dame Whitty knows where it is. Perhaps if I give them the signal to brake…"

"They must be halfway to Wellsworth by now," said the fireman. "They won't be able to hear you."

"Then that's a risk I am willing to take," the driver replied before pulling the whistle cord down with both hands. After a long blast, his knowledge of the American's use of "whistle codes" were put to good use.

Even though she liked going fast, Hannah was zooming down the track like she had never gone before, but danger had begun to settle in when she feared that she would fly right off the tracks if they did not coast to a stop sooner. Christopher and Dame Whitty still inside her felt the jolt and knew that the accident had happened all too quickly. Her heart was pounding and Christopher just wanted Hannah to slow down until he heard James' whistle blasting four times.

"Either the engine is whistling for distress, or he's trying to whistle a warning," Dame Whitty said, not understanding American whistle signals.

Christopher, having been brought up through his native educational system, did not understand it either. Then he saw the hand brake wheel on the balcony outside Hannah's door. Being certain that she wasn't shaking too much from the velocity, Christopher got up from his seat and went out the door. At last he turned the wheel and sparks flew with the sound of screeching wheels until Hannah came to a stop just outside the station.

"I thought I would never stop for sure!" Hannah exaggerated to her passengers.

The stationmaster, watching the scene from the platform, telephoned the signalmen to warn any approaching engines of the immobile coach. Edward came along with his own train and he buffered up to Hannah to take her back to James. Her rear coupling was not in good shape either, but the two engines steadied her all the way to the end of the line.

When the two trains arrived in Crovan's Gate, the tired Edward helped Hannah to the works where the workmen inspected her.

"Never mind, Hannah," said one of them. "You should have checked to make sure that your coupling chain was in good condition."

"My apologies," Hannah admitted. "But when I heard that I was going to be selected for the private car of Dame May, I was ecstatic."

Then came Dame Whitty herself along with Christopher.

"And I'm her hero," he proclaimed proudly. "To both her and my mother's favorite actress."

Dame Whitty blushed, feeling young again with color and light emitting from her happiness.

"Is there anything we can do to reward you?" asked Edward.

"I was thinking about spending the rest of the day with May Whitty," he replied.

Locking his left arm around her right, Christopher and the aging actress walked back to the Limited, taking an extra seat at the fear of the brake coach. The presence of the passengers asking questions and compliments stressed her to the breaking point, but Dame Whitty took the situation at hand and quelled the passengers, giving them her answers one at a time. Christopher helped her when she was feeling tired and he even told them about how he and his mother once saw her performance in _The Lady Vanishes_ , which also took place on a train.

When the Fat Director and Diana heard the news, they congratulated Christopher for his heroism, although Mrs. Driver scolded him for running off. But in spite of this, Christopher had a story to tell his mother as soon as he got back. With luck, the war would be over and he would be back with his family, telling them all about how he spent an entire afternoon out with Dame May Whitty.


	28. Henry's Express

_10:14 a.m., Saturday, September 9_ _th_ _, 1944_

It was no wonder to the Polish Home Army that they would start an uprising in Warsaw with the help of the Soviet Union. The ghetto, which seemed to be as long as ten neighborhoods, had a been a prison for the undesirable civilians of the Nazis that they called _Untermensch_. Christopher and Diana, reading other news from the morning headlines on the way to Tidmouth Station could not believe about the recent turn of events that happened almost three months ago with the Normandy invasion and an assassination plot on July 20th that could have marked the end of Adolf Hitler, but sadly did not come into fruition. Compared to the Blitz that forced Christopher to leave his home four years ago, the German's recent attack on England with a "flying bomb" looked like something out of a science fiction novel that was doomed to come true.

Thomas left the children at the station and went off to the junction just as Percy came in with a train of five coaches. Passengers went to catch other trains while others went to deliver parcels and eat refreshments from the cafés that were in and out of the station.

"If you are planning to help out," he said to Christopher. "Do it soon, Henry will be leaving with the express in 18 minutes."

Diana agreed to make the decision for Christopher and Percy puffed away. Then she noticed Christopher on the verge of crying and wrapped her arms around him.

Henry arrived and he hated to see a child cry.

"Hello, Christopher," he said. "Those are some big tears. Can you tell me what is wrong?"

Christopher told him about the attack last night. It was his discovery of the German's "flying bomb" that caused him to sprout tears in the first place. The rocket, as described by the news, was powerful enough to destroy eleven houses, killing everyone inside and the area that had been hit was close to where he lived.

"My house is probably demolished along with the others," sobbed the fourteen-year-old. "I'll probably never go home again."

"Never is a mighty big word," Henry tried to bring happiness back into the boy. "I'm sure they'll rebuild your house again, Christopher. All it takes is time and patience for the resources. When I was bricked up in the tunnel, I thought I would never get out, but as you remember fate came to me in the form of Gordon bursting his safety valve."

A giggle came out of Christopher's mouth, then he smiled and then he wiped away the tears with his sleeve.

"Speaking of which, I am headed for the mainland to meet some American officials who want to see the island. Would you like to come with me?"

"Yes," said Christopher. "Anything is better than moping. I can even try to drive you."

Henry's crew helped the boy and girl aboard and once the guard blew his whistle, Christopher opened up the throttle and Henry let out a burst of steam.

 _Chug chug, puff puff, peep peep,_ went Henry as he passed the shed. Christopher could feel his heart pumping in synchronization with the wheels going faster and faster as Henry pulled the express with easy feats, just like Gordon.

It wasn't long before they were in Cosby to pick up and deliver passengers.

"So I heard from the news that the Nazis built a flying bomb," said Henry's driver to Christopher. "What do you suppose it was?"

Christopher, who still had the newspaper, folded it out and read the article again.

"According to the article, it's called a rocket. Like from a science fiction novel."

"Where would the Krauts get a wild idea like that?" wondered Henry's fireman. "The next thing you know, they'll be sending us into outer space to die!"

By the time Henry reached Edward's station, dark clouds began to form over the ocean, approaching the island at a rapid pace, covering the sun.

"Looks like we're in for a bit of rain," muttered Henry, and he thought of his nice dry shed.

Sure enough, the rain came as passengers rushed into the coaches, soaking Henry from funnel to footplate in light drops. Christopher and Diana observed the weather from the safety of the cab, leaving the driver to take over the controls. A similar storm was occurring on the other side of the Atlantic, but while the rain seemed tame here, it was wild over there.

As Henry struggled against the storm, bounding his way up Gordon's Hill with a heavy train, five streaks of lightning flashed across the sky, almost forming a hand.

"Did you see that?!" an excited Christopher asked Diana.

The driver and fireman were not focused on the sky, but on the track, making sure that every signal they passed was in perfect working condition, remembering Henry's dangerous crash with the Flying Kipper. Diana and Christopher had heard some details about the incident, but they knew that it would be dangerous to continue without a working signal, having no idea if another train would be coming straight towards them on the same track in the opposite direction.

When Henry stopped at Ballahoo, the guard went into the station for a schedule, checking to see if any trains had passed before the storm hit.

"No. 8000 was supposed to have left half an hour ago, so we should be clear to leave."

Needless to say, a faulty signal that had been soaked by the water should have warned them. Henry looked at the tunnel up ahead. The track he was on was directing him to the same bore where he got shut up for being afraid of the rain. But since all of that was now water under the bridge so to speak, he eased the express into the tunnel.

It was pitch black, which was odd considering he could usually see the other side, but then there came a echo.

"Help!"

"Did you hear someone?" asked Diana.

"I can't tell," said Henry. "Someone could have tried walking their way into the tunnel and got lost along the way."

"I'm more than someone!" the voice continued. "I am a brake van in serious need of help!"

Christopher looked out of Henry's cab and saw the approaching shape of what was indeed a brake van. He knew who it was.

"Bradford?" he asked.

"YES!" the brake van boomed. "No. 8000 here decided to break down at the most inopportune time. There could be another train coming at us for all I know!"

"How exactly did you break down?" asked Henry.

"A burst safety valve," replied No. 8000.

Henry's thoughts went back to the day he was freed from the tunnel, muttering to himself, "Isn't that a coincidence?"

"NO TIME FOR CHIT-CHAT!" cried Bradford. "GET US OUT!"

Henry pushed and puffed, he moved an inch, then an inch further and when it seemed as though the process would take until tomorrow, Christopher placed his hands against the sides of the cab and whispered.

"Believe in yourself, Henry."

The speed of Henry's traction rods grew faster and faster, his screeching wheels echoing throughout the tunnel. The driver, the fireman, Diana and Christopher waited and soon they were in open daylight.

"Good job, Henry!" praised No. 8000.

Picking up speed, they continued on through Vicarstown and arrived at Barrow, where a crowd of soldiers waited for them. Coming out of the cab, Christopher and Diana could see that No. 8000's train had been consisting of two flatbeds of tanks and three long vans of ammunition, gun powder and airplane parts.

"No wonder it was so heavy!" said Henry, surprised by the five trucks.

As the soldiers helped the workmen with their loads, a man in a general's uniform stepped up to greet the crew of both engines.

"My name is George Patton, United States military general of the Third Army and I would like to congratulate you for your act of valor. I am here for the supplies needed for my command until Eisenhower stops the halt at Metz."

"I am honored to meet you, sir," saluted Christopher.

"Well, my little Brit," General Patton saluted back. "The feeling is mutual. To express my gratitude, I might be needing No. 8000's services just a little longer. Perhaps I might take him with me if there are any railroads nearby where the Third Army is."

"Railways, sir," Diana said in her best official tone.

"I know," said General Patton. "I was just joking. The troops will need me back in Germany, so No. 8000, just keep doing what you have to do and we'll get through the fortress without so much as performing an exercise in futility."

"Rosie and I will remain your obedient servants," smiled No. 8000.

Then General Patton turned to Henry.

"As for you, my fellow engine. I think you deserve a medal for your heroic service."

"I think it would look good on my driver," said Henry. "He deserves it as much as I do."

Returning home, Henry told the other engines all about the near-accident in his tunnel with No. 8000, the mention of a burst safety valve embarrassing Gordon by just a touch. Christopher's thoughts turned to home, wondering how his family would react to hearing him drive a steam engine for the very first time, albeit briefly. What he did know, was that tomorrow was going to be another busy day.


	29. Valentines and Patricks

_10:18 a.m., Wednesday, February 14_ _th_ _, 1945_

Valentine's Day was a time for love, even for the American and British soldiers fighting in what they believed to be the last leg of the battle against Germany. Christopher had spent the last five days trying to find the perfect card for Diana; he imagined it being in the shape of a heart, that he believed would be a good way professing his love for her and everything that she had done to him in return ever since they first met.

At last he found the perfect heart shaped card that was red containing all the love and warmth that a boy could find for the girl of his dreams. He bought the card with his recently earned wages and rushed back to the bedroom to write his name in it. After Diana came home from school, Christopher presented her the card and asked.

"Diana…if you ever come looking for me after I leave Sodor…will you be my wife?"

The question was so sudden and so hasty that Diana gave Christopher a big smile and sat down on the bed.

"Christopher, at this age we're just friends. It takes more than just five years to find the perfect husband in my opinion."

"But you are the only girl I have ever known for the longest time besides my mother, my grandmother and my sisters. All the girls I knew back home at school are just friends of mine."

"In a platonic way?"

"Yes. But not you."

He leaned in and gave her a quick kiss on the lips. It felt like a warm feeling of tender kindness that erased of all of Christopher's self-pity and sadness, but to Diana, it was just about as odd as the first time they had kissed.

When Christopher wanted to discuss love to the other engines, they had little to say to help his situation.

"Love is something that an engine cannot feel," Thomas said to him by the station. "Or at least not physical love, considering that we can't conceive children."

"Living machines and living persons are two separate things," added Bertie when he came along minutes later. "I love my driver, but not in the way you think about it."

"I happen to love ploughing through fields," put in Terrance when Christopher visited his field. "But it's a different kind of love compared to what you think about."

Christopher did think about love, and he did not know at the time how much longer he had until he was going home to his family. Seeking to make the best of things, Christopher thought of taking Diana out to dinner at a restaurant or a pub that was close to the house.

"I think it would be good, but I suggest we limit ourselves to hand-holding."

That was Diana's reply when he told her about their date and Thomas' driver suggested a nice place where they served Irish food. So the boy and the girl walked over and sat down to a table that was close to the window.

"Hello," said a waiter with a faltering dialect. "Will it be just the two of you?"

"Yes," replied Diana. "I'll have the Shepherd's pie."

"And I'll have the coddle," added Christopher.

"Very good selection, boyo," said the waiter.

Then he whispered to the two children.

"Just between us, I have a brother in the Irish Republican Brotherhood and a cousin in the French Resistance. You do know they liberated France last August, right?"

"Why are you telling us this?" asked Christopher, perplexed.

"The war may be over soon," the waiter replied. "I've got to share at least some fame to my customers."

It took him three minutes to bring the food over to the children. As they ate, Christopher and Diana continued to express their own opinions of love, as well as some catching up to do.

"You know, Diana, I have been here almost five years and I feel like a castaway who's ended up on an island of magic."

"If engines, cars, trucks and coaches can talk on this island," Diana said. "It must be magic, but's really more complicated than that. They lack almost the large variety of emotions that we feel, like love and romance."

"I learned that for myself from Thomas, Bertie and Terrance earlier today," Christopher told her. "They have their own definitions of love, like loving to do things. Like plowing fields, pulling passengers and taking minerals from the quarry."

"Well," Diana explained. "That is one way of putting it mildly."

Dinner was just about a lovely as Diana and Christopher and expected it to be and after he paid the waiter with his earnings from fixing up the engines, Christopher took Diana home, where they had a small helping of ice cream for dessert and went to bed, but not before the two lovebirds gave each other another kiss, this time on the lips. Christopher, sleeping soundly in the night, was looking forward to telling Thomas all about his date the following morning.

By the time St. Patrick's Day came along, Thomas met Merlin again at Barrow. Merlin was pulling a flatbed with an orange tank engine on it. She also had ten wheels and a colorful design on her sidetanks.

"Thomas, meet Nia. She helped the troops during the North Africa campaign."

"Hello," said Thomas.

" _Jambo,_ " greeted the orange engine.

"My name's not Jumbo!" Thomas was confused.

"I forgive," explained Nia. " _Jambo_ is how we say 'hello' in Africa. It's in Swahili, the language of our nation."

"Sounds like a very funny language," answered Thomas. "And how is it over in Africa."

"Hot dry, humid and it was recently liberated from German occupation just two years ago."

"I heard about it. Meanwhile, driver tells me that there are cities being bombed in Japan."

"I've also heard that the communists are making their way to Berlin," added Merlin. "Those Soviets make the Nazis look like a rugby team with a stroke of bad luck."

"And what brings you to Sodor, Nia?" asked Thomas.

"Well, the Tuskegee Airmen have been wanting to use me to help them pull their trains. After that, when the war is over, I go back to Kenya."

"Is it the capitol of Africa?" asked Thomas.

"The capitol of Kenya is Nairobi," corrected Nia. "And Kenya itself is one of Africa's countries. I can only go on narrow gauge lines to get into tighter spots when travelling with the army by rail. Merlin was taking me to the Skarloey Railway, since they are in need of an extra engine."

"Skarloey and Rheneas are capable of running the line themselves," Thomas answered. "But I do see your idea."

When Merlin brought Nia to Crovan's Gate, the two small engines were surprised to see a female engine to be working on their line, and she told them stories of Africa and its tribal histories of honor, culture and tradition. They were surprised to hear the number of Africans fighting on opposing sides of the war.

Meanwhile at the driver's house in Ffarquhar, Christopher and Diana were in the bedroom discussing where the St. Patrick's Day festival would take place (in their opinion).

"Lakeside or Summit Hotel?" asked Diana.

"Brendam," replied Christopher. "You'll get a good look of the sea better than at Tidmouth."

"Kellsthorpe Road or Kirk Machan?"

"Kirk Machan. Again, because it's closer to the sea."

"Why the sea?"

"Because it's the Irish Sea, and Ireland is a part of it."

"Well, we're not anywhere near Ireland, we're more close to Cumbria."

"You do have the general idea of it."

Diana went over to her dresser and went to look for a green dress. She asked Christopher.

"Do you have anything green?"

"Just a jacket and some stockings," replied Christopher. "The rest I have are black, and some different mixing colors."

"Would you like to go out and buy some?" she asked

"I'm happy just the way I am," he replied.

But he still went to the tailor's anyway.

They met Percy at the yards in Tidmouth, who was arranging a goods train for Henry.

"Hello, Percy. You're looking neat for St. Patrick's Day today. If you were green again, people would think of you as a Leprechaun or a gremlin."

"What's a gremlin?" asked Percy.

"I think it's a little green man who likes to play tricks," replied Diana.

Gordon, who was on the turntable getting ready for some VIPs from Ireland, including Taoiseach Éamon de Valera, just sniffed snootily.

"Huh! That's what my driver's ham radio friends say, but I don't believe it and neither do they. They say they're just an excuse the RAF made when things go wrong with their planes and nobody knows why."

When he backed down to the station to pick up his coaches, he was three minutes early, allowing Christopher and Diana to follow him until they saw the Taoiseach arriving aboard Neville.

"Sorry, I'm late," he told Gordon. "My firebox had almost gone out from sitting there on that dock."

"No matter," said the Fat Director, standing next to him. "All that matters is that the Taoiseach is here, safe and sound."

But Christopher and Diana were none the less keen on who he was.

"Who is he?" asked Diana.

"I think he's an Irishman," whispered Christopher. "Maybe he's here to help with the St. Patrick's Day festival."

"And he's got a few other men with him."

"The decorating committee? I highly doubt it."

Then Christopher walked up to Gordon, asking.

"Are you taking him to the Saint Patrick's Day festival?"

"I could care less about any festival," sniffed Gordon. "All I can do for my important passenger is to keep on time."

"I'll take that as a yes."

Gesturing Diana, they climbed aboard the first coach and Gordon puffed off. His driver decided to get to the station several minutes early by pushing Gordon close to his maximum speed, but only regulated him to 65 miles an hour after considering the possibility of turning around the bends at dangerous speeds.

"I'd recommend slowing down," the fireman warned him. "You remembered what happened to James after crashing into the cow field, don't you?"

"I do," replied the driver. "But at least I'm not the one making things uncomfortable for the Taoiseach."

The Taoiseach however, was uncomfortable with the way his tea spilled on his seat after Gordon ran round a bend.

"Bother! Now I'll need a new shirt!"

Gordon was relieved when they arrived at Wellsworth. On the opposite platform, stood Edward with a local train from the branch line. Seeing him, the children got out of the coach and ran over the ridge to the other platform, meeting Edward.

"Excuse me," said Diana, running up. "Do you know if the Saint Patrick's Day festival is going to be held here?"

"It is," said Edward. "I imagine that is why Gordon is here with the VIP."

The Taoiseach left the coach, and he and his entourage walked straight into the town. The children followed him to a square where in the distant outskirts, they could see Topham Hall, the home of the Fat Director and his family. By the nunnery, they could see the festival taking shape; men women and children dressed in green, people selling gold coins made from play money, cards of Leprechauns were drawn and others played games or entertained their guests with juggling, playing bagpipes and dancing the stepdance as small numbers of coins were thrown at them.

"Want to get a drink?" Diana asked Christopher. "We are old enough, after all and you'll be turning fifteen in a couple of months."

"No thank you, I think I'll stick with limeade."

He went to find a pitcher of limeade and found a green cup to go with it. That's when a man in a leprechaun's uniform started telling his own personal story to a group of onlookers.

"You know I was dentist back home in Belfast, I had my office right by Great Victoria Street station where I could also work as ticket officer to make some extra money for my family. They loved me so much that I let my family take free train rides."

Christopher could care less, he was interested in the music. It brought him back memories of home and all the other times he and family celebrated St. Patrick's Day. His thoughts were interrupted by the Taoiseach approaching him.

"A drink of limeade, I see. Care to share some with a politician?"

"Sure," Christopher nodded, handing him another drink.

After a pair of cheers by clinking their glasses together, the Taoiseach said.

"You know, the word went out that our president Douglas Hyde had taken some form of illness for the time being, so he and the others back home sent me here to Sodor to help with the current matters between our two countries."

Christopher had heard about such troubles, but he could only but the troubles down in one word.

"Blueshirts?"

"Surely, you do realize that Ireland has had its own share of fascism like they do in Germany. Great Britain and Ireland have had a…very violent history together. The Black and Tans, the Republican Brotherhood, all of which led to a fight for our independence."

"Well, our elders back in England have a different opinion about your people."

"Oh yes, those who actually remember the war of independence. I should assume that the Blitz would have given them a chance to open their eyes and think about others, including the Irish. I think there are at least a few evacuees who were sent from London to Dublin five years ago, but that may not be entirely true."

"Then what is true?"

"This isn't the first time, England has tried to ask for help, young man. We never knew how help them, so we decided to remain neutral. Although we've have some participants serving in the British Army, there have been several members of IRA who sent bike bombs over to England just so they could get more supporters. President Hyde just so happens to be very close to the German minister, but I think the both of them are innocent victims of circumstance, what do you think?"

"I'm sorry, Mister Taoiseach," said Christopher, shaking his head. "But my father and I haven't been very interested in Ireland other than its beauty and history. We thought about going to Cobh sometime when I was six, but Mum was having Hilary and we decided to stay home since she felt more comfortable there."

The Taoiseach understood this.

"Just remember, Ireland is always open to the young and brave."

And left into the crowd. So did Christopher, who went to find Diana.

"Diana?" he called once.

The girl turned to face her. She had some cider in her right hand.

"You want to go home, Christopher?"

He nodded.

"Sure, I do."

Hand in hand, the two children walked home…and not one of them knew that the war would be ending very soon.


	30. Gordon's Run

_9:00 p.m., Tuesday, May 8_ _th_ _, 1945_

At long last, the Third Reich had weakened and Hugo's dream had completely collapsed. Adolf Hitler had taken his own life with his new wife Eva and dog Ulla, followed a day after by Joseph Goebbels and his family. The Soviet Army had taken control of Berlin after a long, yet victorious battle and other German forces, including those who were in Italy, surrendered to the Allies. British planes sank the ocean liner, _Cap Arcona_ , not realizing until too late that it had been carrying prisoners from concentration camps. One of these camps, Oranienburg, was liberated by the Russians. The Castle Itter in Austria fell into Allied hands, General Patton captured Plzeň, and Spain severed their relationships with Germany.

In the midst of all this good news, Thomas took Christopher and Diana, via Annie and Clarabel to Tidmouth Station where the Fat Director was holding a gathering of engines and humans alike. He stood on a podium and cleared his throat to the crowd before him. As controller of the North Western Railway, he was fond of giving speeches, regardless of length.

"Ladies, gentlemen and engines, I am pleased to announce from the Prime Minister himself that the war is officially over!"

A cheer of laughs and hurrahs filled the station, expanding out into the harbour where it could be heard less than a mile away into the Mid-Sodor Railway. Diana clapped until her hands grew tired. Christopher breathed a sigh of relief and smiled, rushing upwards to announce the very thing he had been wanting to say until the day arrived.

"That means I can go home!"

The crowd continued to cheer, then silence fell. The engines began to wonder who would take Christopher home.

"London's too far for my wheels," said Edward.

"Mine as well," added Percy. "I'd be tired even after I had left the island."

"I should do the honors!" shouted James.

"You?!" scoffed Henry. "After what happened with you and Hannah breaking away from your train? I'm the strongest of us all!"

"To be honest, Henry," said Thomas. "I was the first to meet Christopher, so I should be the one to take him home."

"You had your chance five years ago," said Gordon. "Now it's time for someone else to have that chance. Christopher, I'll take you back to London, faster before you can say 'there is no place like home'."

Many of the soldiers and army officials who had ended up on Sodor were willing to take Gordon as well, including a plethora of passengers for a number of mixed reasons. As Percy went to fetch the coaches, Christopher felt like he was the luckiest boy in the world. He could not believe it was only five years ago that he took the wrong train to Barrow, when he should have gone to Oxenholme to meet his sisters, his mother, father and uncle having gone separate ways into different factions of the army. Now at last, the chance for home had opened the door for him and he was very much expecting his father to be there upon returning.

It was fifteen minutes for everyone to get aboard. The Fat Director met Christopher, who was standing by Gordon's cab and cleared his throat and held out his right hand.

"Well, Christopher, it was a pleasure having you here. You worked hard with almost no shirking and for that I want to thank you for being a really useful child."

Christopher took his left hand and shook it with the Fat Director's, who immediately went to his office to write his views on the War Department. Then, after loading his suitcase and messenger's bag of 5 year old clothes that were most likely not going to fit him anymore into the cab, he saw Thomas and Diana on the next platform, waiting to see him off while the other engines waited in the sidings nearby. He walked over to them, first to Diana, who gave her a big hug.

"I hope you will come and see me in London soon."

"Maybe on holiday."

Then he walked over to Thomas, slowly and somewhat against his own will, but at last, he found the courage to step up to his front and hugged his face. In response, Thomas closed his eyes, wanting to remember this for the rest of his life.

"You were my first real friend, Thomas," whispered Christopher. "I think I'll miss you most of all."

"I'll tell the other engines you said goodbye," Thomas replied quietly.

Christopher slowly released himself from Thomas' face and Thomas opened his eyes in close synchronization of the boy slowly parting from him.

"Are you ready, now?" Gordon whistled.

"Yes, I am ready," nodded Christopher.

It took him a second to notice Annie and Clarabel, who were coupled to Thomas, and he waved back to them with a silent goodbye before his right foot was touching the floor of Gordon's cab.

"Remember!" called Thomas. "If you ever wish to return to Sodor, it's only a whistle away!"

The signal light shone green and Gordon's fireman stoked the boiler. His driver placed the accelerator up to full speed and Gordon pulled out of the station into the dark night, the moon and his bright headlamps lighting the way. Whistles and cheers of good wishes came from the other engines who all hoped that the boy who changed their lives forever would come back someday. Christopher would not stop waving until Thomas and Diana were out of sight.

"Goodbye, Thomas," he said in voice that no one could hear over the din. "I love you."

Gordon rolled along the main line, passing the sleeping houses and trees that were devoid of humans. His wheels gave a steady rhythm as he picked up speed. _Trickety tock_ , went the coaches as the driver opened up the throttle to let more steam do all the work. When Gordon reached 100 miles per hour, Christopher stuck his head out of the cab and let his hair fly.

"Hurry, hurry, hurry!" yelled Gordon. "Express coming through!"

Presently, they rumbled over the Vicarstown Bridge and onto the Other Railway, passing Barrow and the costal sea and an hour later, Christopher grew tired.

"Do you think we'll be able to stop for the night?" he asked the driver.

"We can stay at Doncaster! My old home!" shouted Gordon. "As long as they remember me, that is."

It took them at least four hours to reach Doncaster and by the time they did, it was close to midnight. Gordon, exhausted from the long run, was looking forward to rest his wheels. The engines who occupied the shed were benevolent and charitable once they learned from him that Doncaster was the place of his birth. A shunter took the coaches onto a siding with the passengers still inside and Gordon, who had uncoupled from the train, slowly limped into the shed. He was glad to have some of his brothers and sisters for company.

"Now we can catch some shuteye!" he sighed before his eyes went completely droopy.

Christopher almost didn't feel like sleeping, he was excited to see his father again, along with the rest of his family. But then, a problem occurred in his head as soon as he remember how he actually came to Sodor, since no one but Wilbert and Uncle George knew where he had gone. How would he tell his mother that he had gotten on the wrong train? How would he explain to his sisters that he broke his father's wishes to look after them? How would he tell his school about an island of talking trains that not too many people seemed to know about? All the while, as Christopher slept in the cab, he knew that his family was thinking of him too and he would have so many interesting stories to tell his descendants…if he was going to have any.


	31. The Reunion

_9:00 a.m., Wednesday, May 9_ _th_ _, 1945_

Gordon woke up at the crack of dawn. His fire was lit and he puffed slowly out of the shed, bidding a tootful farewell to his brothers Solario and Lemberg. After thanking the manager for his stay, he was coupled to the train and Christopher woke up from the bump of the jolt. He soon got up and looked out of the windows to see Doncaster slowly slipping away from him.

"We're not far from London now!" cheered Gordon.

But no sooner had he reached Cambridge that there was trouble up ahead. A man in a general's uniform was waving a red flag, accompanied by an LNER MP. Obeying the flag, Gordon came to a stop just before the station. The signalman, watching from the signal box, halted all traffic to warn any approaching trains.

"What do you think you were doing?!" Gordon wheeshed angrily. "Can you not tell the difference from a rail line to a road?"

"Allow me to introduce myself," said the general. "Edmund Hakewill-Smith. I just got back from Europe. This is Timothy."

The military policeman tipped his round hard helmet to Christopher who stepped out of Gordon's cab with the driver and fireman.

"I assume your reason for this obstruction would have to be a military inspection?" Gordon's driver asked the general.

"Yes," said General Hakewill-Smith. "I have reason to believe you have a German onboard who got out of Hutchinson on the Isle of Man without proper notification of absence. He may be a spy."

"That is absurd!" huffed Gordon. "We haven't seen a spy since Hugo's driver."

"I have heard about one such experimental engine who came around here about five years ago," the general wondered.

"Yes," added Christopher. "We soon sent him packing…or so I have been told."

Timothy held out his badge and crossed over to the coaches, holding it above his head for the passengers to see.

"I can assure you it will not take too long," said General Hakewill-Smith. "All we have to do is find the German and you can continue on your way. But bear in mind, I have a partial trust towards foreigners, especially engines."

"Are you even aware that the war is over and Hitler is dead?" asked Gordon incredulously. "Hundreds of Germans are being sent home as we speak."

"POWs, perhaps," replied the general. "But that's why I have tracked this particular individual; to ensure that every German, civilian or soldier, gets a safe journey home."

"This is an outrage!" called one of the soldiers from the first coach. "I say we leave now and let the London police handle them!"

"I may not be a member of MI5," said General Hakewill-Smith. "But as a member of the British Army, you can hold your tongue and remain silent until I find the person I am looking for."

The soldier slumped back into his seat. It did not seem like they were going to leave anytime soon.

General Hakewill-Smith and Timothy took one side of the train, asking the passengers for identification. Timothy kept his handcuffs out as a warning that he meant serious business.

"I am expected to arrive at noon!" fumed Gordon. "I've heard they were going to schedule a ticker-tape parade."

"QUIET!" the general barked, reminding Gordon of Bradford the brake van. "I am just about halfway done!"

"The indignity!" muttered Gordon. "I wish I could see how much London has changed since I last saw it."

"So do I," Christopher told him.

There was sadness in his voice, but he had to be mature and patient to give his father a good impression that he had grown up over the last five years. He waited another two minutes and at last, General Hakewill-Smith and Timothy found the man in the last coach before the brake coach. He identified himself as Kurt Schwitters, a painter who had been living in exile since 1937.

"When I heard that Hitler had died last week," he explained. "I assumed that the war was over, so I ran to Sodor and waited to find a train that would take me back to Germany via ship with my son. I hope I can make money off of my contacts."

"We'll see about that," the general told him. "Right now, I suggest you get to London if you want to celebrate your country's defeat."

That being said, Herr Schwitters and Christopher boarded the train. Gordon shot down the line like a cannonball and the soldiers cheered that they were on their way again, waving thanks and goodbye to the general and the MP who waved back.

 _Maybe not all Germans are bad,_ Christopher thought to himself once he reminisced on Schwitters' story.

But his thoughts were drowned out by Gordon's shout of: "London, here we come!"

"London, here we come! London, here we come!" chanted the coaches.

Christopher was expecting to be in Euston as they pulled in, but further recognition of the structure and the name on the walls told him that it was…

"King's Cross."

"I thought it was the only way we could get to London from the route we took," Gordon told him.

Throngs of people came to see him, having never seen an engine that could speak while some paid no mind to this curiosity and searched the train he pulled for any loved ones who were onboard. Reporters from _The Times_ to _The Daily Mail_ were there, recording the events that swirled around them. Photographers clicked away at reunions and scenes of mourning and outside the station, bands and children sang. It was a very happy day.

Grabbing his suitcase and messenger's bag, Christopher stepped off Gordon as the soldiers and Herr Schwitters left the coaches and searched the crowd for any sign or any member of his family. The crowd was a sea of faces that parted into open spaces with stone walls decorated in banners and bunters for what was to be known as "Victory Day". Christopher wondered if anyone would recognize him, yet he turned to Gordon and said in a voice that he hoped the big engine would hear.

"Thank you for taking me home, Gordon!"

Then he hugged his face, catching Gordon by surprise and quickly jumped off his front and landed on his feet to run into the crowd. Gordon watched him disappear, blushing from that quick hug that lasted for five seconds and turned his eyes to the décor of the station still looking as marvelous as ever. It would be a long time before he would get a chance see King's Cross again, but that's another story.

Hilary and Veronica waited on a bench by the entrance. Five years in Oxenholme had not been kind for either of them. Thanks to a hesitant old woman who got fed up with taking care of so many children in her house, along with her husband's small ounce of support, the girls had grown up a little too fast. Once they heard they would be going home, they left on the morning train that arrived an hour before Gordon, excited to see their parents again. Traffic had been immense and they had been sitting for almost thirty minutes for their mother to pick them up when Hilary noticed a conversant face of dark brown hair.

"Does he look familiar to you?" Hilary asked to her sister.

"I think it is!" Veronica added with optimism in her voice.

Veronica and Hilary knew that their mother would be here at any minute to pick them up, but they did not care once the face turned to them.

Christopher's head turned to the left, catching a total glimpse of his sisters and recognized them immediately. His face beamed.

"Hilary! Veronica!" he called. "I'm here!"

The sisters jumped off the bench and ran into Christopher's arms.

"Where have you been?" asked Veronica, her tone turning mean. "Do you have any idea how much we have been through since you left us?"

Christopher hugged them again, this time into a tighter embrace.

"What does it matter? We're home! Home! And I promise I won't leave you two ever, ever again!"

"I'm happy to be home too," Hilary whispered.

At that moment, Margaret arrived by cab and when the children saw her, they hugged her in return.

"My goodness how you've grown!" Margaret laughed. "How was it up in the countryside?"

Christopher grew nervous when he heard "countryside". It was time for him to face the music.

"Actually," he confessed in a shy voice. "I got on the wrong train. A tank engine named Thomas took me to Sodor and his friend Gordon took me back."

"Well," asked Margaret, putting her fists on her hips. "Where is this Gordon?"

By the time they reached the platform, Gordon had wisely disappeared with a train of holiday makers who wanted to see the Island of Sodor. He was smug and confident that his home had been put on the map at last. Christopher knew that there was plenty of time to tell his story later.

All three children and their mother took an Austin cab back home where the backyard had looked as though nothing terrible had happened there and when Christopher stepped into the house, who should he see in the living room, but none other than his father, his Uncle George and a couple whom he did not recognize. Instead of a hug, Christopher shook his father's right hand with his left like a true soldier and then he spoke to the couple, who introduced themselves as Reginald and Iris Dalby, whom Christopher was supposed to have been with for the duration of the war.

"I was expecting to see you, young man," said Mr. Dalby. "But it seems that fate has brought something much greater than what I expected. You father has told me all about the Island of Sodor and we thought that it would be best to tell stories about them. That should make up for anything that we lost."

"You mean you are going to write children's books?" asked Christopher to his father.

"Yes, indeed. And we'll start with my manuscript and another story about Thomas."

Christopher's thoughts turned back to the little blue engine who he had befriended with for the half-decade, his wish of seeing Sodor put on the map had come true.

That afternoon as Uncle George and the girls were planning dinner, Christopher came to see his father, who was sitting on the back porch.

"So," asked his father. "Are you happy to be home?"

"The same goes for seeing you again," replied Christopher.

Wilbert took out a small book from his bag, handing it to Christopher.

"I have a present for you."

Christopher took it. On the front cover was an illustration of Henry and Edward pulling a passenger train as Gordon looked on, smiling. Under the illustration was the title:

 _The Three Railway Engines._

Christopher and Wilbert hugged each other with joy.

"I love you, Dad."

"I love you too, Christopher."

They both looked at the book, peering deeper into that magical place where trains, coaches, trucks and even buses could talk.

"Now we'll always have our memories of Sodor together."

It was a happy Thomas who looked out into the sunset that evening, remembering Christopher, his usefulness and most of all, their friendship. Then he went happily to sleep, knowing that the both of them were safe and sound at home.


	32. Epilogue

_Six years later_

With no more wars or other catastrophes to derail them so to speak, things gradually went back to normal for both the Awdrys and the engines on Sodor, with only a few small changes that took place over the following years. The Mid-Sodor Railway had closed due to a decline in resources and Duke was sheeted in his shed while Falcon and Stuart were purchased by the Skarloey Railway. They were eventually given new coats and renamed Sir Handel and Peter Sam. The Fat Director was no longer strutting around the railway as he used to anymore. In fact, he looked almost ill and was in dire need of a holiday. On the other hand, all four of the major British railway companies were nationalised into British Railways, effecting the North Western Railway on a marginal level.

Soon, it would be time for Christopher to attend college. He chose the College of West Anglia in King's Lynn, Wisbech, where he hoped to study in becoming an engineer while his sisters went to Neville Chamberlain's alma mater of Rugby School to become teachers and his parents and uncle moved back to King's Norton, Birmingham for a change of air. Also, in the railway line that went from Wisbech to Upwell, there lived an old brown engine named Toby.

Toby was a tram engine. He was short and sturdy. He had cowcatchers and side plates and did not look like a steam engine at all. He took trucks from farms and factories to the main line and the big engines took them to London and elsewhere. The line ran along roads and through fields and villages. Toby rang his bell cheerfully to everyone he met.

He had a coach called Henrietta, who had seen better days. She complained a lot because she had a few passengers. Toby was attached to Henrietta and always took her with him.

"She might be useful one day," he often said to himself.

"It's not fair at all!" grumbled Henrietta as the buses roared passed her with a large capacity of passengers. Envious of them, she remembered how she used to be full and nine trucks would rattle behind her.

Now, as progress made things easier around the line, there were only three or four since the farms and factories had recently been sending their goods mostly in lorries.

Toby was always careful on the road. The cars, buses and lorries often had accidents. Toby had a clean record of not having had an accident for years, but the buses were crowded and Henrietta was empty.

During lunch hour on Christopher's second day at the college, he went to the station after hearing about the "queer looking engine" from some of his classmates. Curious, he did not hesitate and when Toby saw him, the first thing he said was:

"Have you come to sneer at me too?"

Seeing Toby's face reminded him of the first time he met Thomas and the engines on Sodor. The sense of déjà vu nearly brought him back to a decade when he was a hapless little boy. But now, he was just about twenty and after clearing his throat he replied.

"No. It is just that…I have never seen a tram engine before, especially since I used to take the Underground to school when I was younger."

Toby gave him a satisfied smile.

"Only engines like me are real tram engines. I am happy to be living proof of that."

"Are you going to take a ride in me?" asked Henrietta, surprising the student. "It has been years since I have had the pleasure of carrying a more respectable person around the line."

Christopher didn't care at all if he was late, so he looked back at the school and nodded.

"I will. But it will only be for a short time."

Without further questioning, Toby set off for the next station as soon as Christopher was onboard. He enjoyed the slow-moving scenery from the safety of Henrietta's window that felt so relaxing and quiet. When they got there, the two properly introduced themselves.

"By the way, I'm Christopher."

"Toby," the tram engine replied.

"Will you take me back, I need to get to my class as soon as possible."

"No problem," assured Toby. "I'll just back myself up and we'll be there before the next hour."

Before the next hour was all Christopher needed. When they got back, he ran out of Henrietta and dashed into the school to avoid a stern reprimand from his headmaster. But the next day after asking his headmaster for permission, he would often go into the other villages with Toby and Henrietta to fetch some supplies and inspiration for projects and trigonometry exams.

But some time later, Toby met a lorry with bad news at one of the factories.

"What's all this?" he asked.

"We're doing most of your work now," said the lorry. "You're too slow and it's high time you were put in a museum where you belong."

"I may be old," Toby explained. "But I have a lot of life left in me."

"Times are changing," replied the lorry, and he drove away, leaving Toby with very hurt feelings.

And I am sorry to say that the lorry was right, by 1951 with the extra safety regulations in roadway traffic, the controller of the tramline decided to suspend all of Toby's operations, eliminating his jobs and leaving the railway to be abandoned. That same year was Christopher's graduation and his family came over to celebrate. When Christopher told them about Toby, they all decided to have a round trip ride aboard his cab since Henrietta, the trucks and the brake van were all full of people who wanted the chance of a last ride. Wilbert had not had this experience for a long time since Grandfather Vere took him to Great Yarmouth for a holiday, where they saw many tram engines that resembled Toby, but in fact were his brothers.

Back at Wisbech, after everyone had left, Christopher paid his respects for Toby.

"I'm sorry about your line, Toby, but I do hope you will find another place to live."

"If it is not a museum," Toby replied mournfully. "I would say yes in a minute."

Christopher left the station and the last time he ever saw of Toby was him puffing sadly back to his shed. What Christopher didn't know was that while he was spending the summer with his family, the Fat Director and his grandchildren were having their own holiday on the tramway where they met Toby. Toby could remember how infuriated he was when his granddaughter Bridget called him "electric".

Back on Sodor, Thomas had some troubles with a large policeman who looked after the quarry line. He had no cowcatchers or sideplates, as the law required such items when going on public roads to prevent injury from by-passers. Despite the protests of the driver and fireman, it was no good.

"Then," said the Fat Director once he had heard of this. "I am afraid we will have to make those cowcatcher things for Thomas, I suppose."

"Everyone will laugh, sir," said Thomas sadly. "They'll say I look like a tram."

The Fat Director stared, then he laughed and finally it hit him that the branch line needed a tram engine. He immediately bought Toby and Henrietta, who travelled all the way to Sodor by rail. It took him a few days, but he made it all the way through, especially after escaping the stationmaster that wanted to turn Henrietta into a henhouse.

Toby made the trucks behave even better than Thomas.

But Thomas was jealous.

"To think," he muttered to himself in his shed. "He's doing my job better than me."

Toby came alongside him.

"My bell can come in handy too."

"And what can it do compared to a whistle like mine?"

"I used it to scare that policeman away. You will not have to worry about him anymore."

Thomas soon forgot to be cross when he heard that, but then he added.

"Christopher could have done a better job than him."

Toby's eyes widened.

"You don't mean…Christopher Awdry? The college student who often visited me when my line was closing?"

"That was his name," Thomas said modestly. "Did he have the same brown hair, green eyes and had a father named Wilbert?"

"I believe he did," Toby answered. "How did you come to know him?"

Thomas, flattered by his expertise, smiled at the question and told Toby all about his friendship with Christopher.


End file.
